


Like Water Over Fire (Like Water On Fire)

by MCSSymon



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, M/M, Modern Royalty, Royalty, like the bachelor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 112,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCSSymon/pseuds/MCSSymon
Summary: “I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet yourhusband?”Oh god, Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right?Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly”Or Prince Harry has 46 men and 13 weeks to find the husband of his dreams, Louis has a limited amount to time to live out a royal fantasy. They might just be exactly what the other needs.





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Think of it like the bachelor, except the bachelor is a Prince and also gay. 
> 
> Title from "Water Over Fire" by Roo Panes.

The television in the Tomlinson household was older than any one member of the family, and nearly just as worn. It had a habit of losing service, despite the fact that the worn out satellite still stayed in the same place, and every so often a person on the screen would become a collection of enlarged, multi-coloured pixels. It was so old that it still had a dial on the side and sometimes it would get caught on loose metal and jam on some undesirable channel until Louis’ dad would come home and pry it from its place. It was completely useless when it came to any sort cable television and picked up at total of 4 channels, the public access news, a children’s cartoon channel, one that showed old sports highlights, and the shopping channel. 

Because of the costs of satellite, it was normally only on twice a day. Once very early in the morning, when only the weather channel was available, solely so that Louis’ mum could decide if it was best to wear a skirt or pants, and once after dinner for the nightly report. 

The report was half an hour long, and Martin McSilver, a larger than life character with an affinity for the colour by which he was named, hosted it. He was fun enough that Louis’ little sisters laughed, and informative enough that Louis’ mum deemed it worth watching, but most importantly, he was the official royal correspondent. This meant that every Sunday he would bring the public either a live interview with the royal family, or a newsreel of “They’re Just Like You” moments for inside the palace. 

Louis could watch it for hours. The lavishness of the palace, with its crown moulding, turquoise walls, mirrors in ornate gold frames, and tables topped with marble. Or the beauty of their clothes, made of silk and tweed, heavy with jewellery from around the world. Queen Anne’s tiara of pure white diamonds catching every light in the studio and King Desmond’s watch made of pure gold. The glittering caught in Louis’ eyes and stayed there for hours after, filling his dreams with images of himself surrounded by these niceties and riches. 

That was long before he realized that his life was not meant for that. 

His life was meant for things like worn out soles in old shoes and never quite enough to eat. For cockroaches and washing dishes in the back of restaurants, wishing for nothing more than to be sitting with the patrons. Louis gave up on any hope of a life like that long ago. 

He accepted where he stood, far from the palace in London, in a town outside of Manchester, in a house with too few rooms for too many children and little to do about it. He was only one person in a crowd of so many like him, not meant to shine with the gleam of gems or silk. That was just his destiny. 

But Louis found that no matter how much it pained him, he could still wonder at the world so far from his own. A world full of vast gardens, and rooms to one’s self, and maids, and cooks. A world where a Queen lived with her King and their only son, in a palace that could fit so many. And so, Louis watched the report every Sunday religiously, to find his half hour of escape into the world of royalty. 

Sometimes, he would still dream of his own life there. On nights where Lottie slept soundly beside him, and the twins had fallen to sleep early, he could find himself dreaming. Each and every dream included one common theme, he was a prince, and Prince Harry didn’t exist. 

It wasn’t that he hated Prince Harry; in fact he thought that he was quite likable, but after years of realizing every degree that separated them until they were nearly separate species, it was difficult not to resent him just the littlest bit. Prince Harry had everything that Louis didn’t. He had money, and a family who was not falling apart at their seams, and a beautiful house with what Louis was sure were very few if not no bugs. He had a horse named Dusty (Louis had learn from one of many film reels over the years), and a kitten named Molly who had a habit of getting lost in the palace only for Harry to have to go and find her. He had many friends from other royal families, who were interviewed at every English royal gala saying how lovely Harry was to be around. He had a four-poster bed with silk curtains patterned with little leaves and a computer on his desk in a shade of gold, complete with a golden mouse. 

It was also that Prince Harry had forced Louis to realize very early in his teen years that he was gay. Louis blamed with rather unfortunate detail on Harry to a certain extent. It was, after all, him who had brought it to the forefront of Louis’ mind. Louis had spent so many nights dreaming of him, that eventually he had to block him from his mind in fear that he father might just look in and see his thoughts of Harry’s smooth chest and pretty lips. Louis liked to think that if it hadn’t been for Harry, he could have lived his entire life normally, with a pretty girl like Eleanor from down the road and a whole slew of Northerner kids. 

So, even if Louis did like to imagine his life without Prince Harry in it, he watched the report obsessively in hopes of seeing him. With his long hair and pretty body. He was tall, taller than Louis, and Louis had always liked to imagine that if they were to hug, Prince Harry might rest his chin on the top of Louis’ head. He had big hands that Louis reckoned could hold his entire cheek (or his arse). 

It was especially exciting when one day in early spring Prince Harry entered the studio alone. In hindsight, Louis probably knew the reason for his taking the podium by himself, but in the moment Louis could only watch with unbridled interest. 

Martin McSilver introduced him as if the entire world did not know who he was, but Louis could only focus on the way that Harry’s fingers were playing with his bottom lip, deep in thought. He was unbelievably attractive, Louis would not deny that, but for a moment Louis was caught up in his little resentment of him and just had to point out the fact that his hair had been run through so many times that it had gone greasy. 

He coughed when he got up to the front to the studio where he would deliver his “special announcement” and Louis took the moment of silence to look around his living room. His mum obviously knew what was coming, because she looked interested, but not apprehensive, her legs crossed primly with her hands folded in her lap. Lottie was biting her nails –a habit Louis had been trying to rid her for life- with her legs pulled up to chest and Louis would have paid real money to see what was going through her head at the moment that had caused the nervous energy coursing through her veins. Fizzy was enrapt in what was happening on the screen, she obviously didn’t know what was actually happening, but Louis had a sneaking suspicion that she had just as much of a crush on Harry as he did. The twins couldn’t care less about the report, and were off in the corner playing with the little second hand dolls that Louis and his mum had pooled together to buy for their birthday the year before. The babies looked the most interested in it if Louis was honest, but he was fairly sure that they were just fascinated by the bright orange and purple of the studio background. 

He was almost too distracted by his family to hear what Prince Harry says, but he does catch it, and it makes his own breath catch in his throat, “I would like to announce that as of Monday, we will be accepting applications for my Selection. We will be looing at each application over this week and will announce the 46 contenders, one from each region, next Sunday. The Selection will take place over a thirteen week period” he continued to speak after that, but Louis’ heart had already broke a little bit as he said it, because something about Harry being permanently single made it seem like Louis’ little fantasy of meeting him seem a little bit more realistic. 

Like he would be in a London club, and for some reason Louis would find himself in the same club. Harry would buy him a drink of something expensive and they would strike up a conversation, which would eventually morph into them dancing together on the dance floor, and eventually would lead to Harry taking Louis back home with his and having his way with him. Again, it was, after all, a fantasy. 

Louis got so wrapped up in all of it that he nearly missed Harry’s final statement. In fact, he did miss it, and only caught Martin McSilver’s reaction. 

“I’m sorry your highness, I think I misheard you, did you really say that you are hoping to meet your _husband_?” _Oh god_ , Louis panicked. Was Prince Harry gay? Was he even allowed to be gay? Surely he wouldn’t be allowed to have a selection from a group of men, right? 

Prince Harry looked partly like he wanted to laugh, but also very, very nervous about what he had just admitted, “Yes, sir, you heard correctly” he told Martin McSilver before turning back to the front where his teleprompter probably was and began to speak to the cameras again, “the selection will only be accepting male applicants between the ages of 18 and 22. You can apply at your local post office within the next three days. Anyone who does not meet both criteria will be turned away. You must apply in your region of residence, and any repeat applications found will be thrown out of the running” and then he paused to put a pained smile on his face, “I look forward to getting to know many of you, and finding my future life partner” 

When Louis looked back at his mum for the second time, he saw her with her hands covering her mouth as if she could not believe what she was hearing. She and Louis caught each other’s eye for a moment and Louis felt very naked. She knew, didn’t she? _Oh god_ , Louis thought, _she knew_. 

Louis was about to sprint up to his bedroom (well his, and Lottie’s and the twins’) when Phoebe opened her mouth as wide as she could and asked very loudly, “Prince Harry wants to marry a boy?” as if she could not believe it either despite the fact that she hadn’t even been listening. 

Luckily, Louis’ mum had calmed down, because she responded very quietly, maybe too quietly, “Yes darling, he does.” 

Phoebe did not think that was enough, because of course she wouldn’t. With that same loud voice she continued, “Can’t boys only marry girls?” 

And Louis wanted to throw up, because his mother surely thought so, but also knew Louis’ secret. She was going to denounce it publically to his entire family, so that when it was finally forced out of him, his own sisters wouldn’t forgive him. “No darling” Louis’ mother said calmly again, and when Louis looked up, he could see that she was looked straight at him, “anyone can marry whoever they want” 

Louis wanted to throw up more then, because she was talking straight to Louis. She was trying to tell him that she was okay with his secret. But how could she be? Louis’ dad wouldn’t be okay with it when she told him. He was always going off, calling people fags and queers, he’d even gone all the way out to the polls for the very first time in his life to vote against the legalization of gay marriage. It had all been for naught in the end, because the law had passed anyways, but he’d made his point to Louis. 

At least he was out that night, somewhere with his friends probably passed out in a ditch, waiting for the police to pick him up and take him in. It wouldn’t be the first time, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last. He had his own way of living, and it didn’t often include his family or being sober. But when he did come home, he’d go off about The Selection announcement and how he had never accepted the monarchy, but he certainly didn’t accept it now that his future ruler was a fag. He would go off on the whole family, probably break the last few breakable things in the house and then sit the entire family down for a lecture about how he would not accept a fag as king and that they shouldn’t either. 

What would his sisters think when after their mother had told them it was okay? They were still too young to see through all of the lies their father put up, and all of the damage he caused to them. He just prayed to god that they didn’t know about Louis before it happened, because they were too little to know what sort of harm they could be doing to their big brother by telling him. 

The rest of the report was spent going of the history of the selection, as if everyone wasn’t already familiar with the process. What they tactfully left out was that the selection was originally held so that the King, who had fallen inexplicably in love with three commoners could choose which one would be his wife, and most importantly that none of them had volunteered. 

They showed clip after clip from King Desmond’s selection, where he fell in love with Queen Anne, taking all of the most romantic parts and none of the parts where he kissed other woman. It was more of a terrible romantic movie than a real representation of what the selection was like –not that Louis had been alive to watch it, but he’d watched every episode illegally on the Internet at school once. 

Once it ended, Louis was in charge of shepherding all of his sisters up the stairs and into their shared bedroom. He got changed quickly, because he was tired and worried about his secret somehow getting out before he could sleep. Lottie and Fizzy, now at the age where changing in front of their family was too strange, each took turns going to the bathroom to changing into their pyjamas, and Lottie to take off the little bit of mascara Louis knew she had stolen from their mother. 

Once everyone was tucked in nicely and sleeping soundly, Louis started to dream again. The same dream he always did, where he was a prince, this time in an ornate overcoat and a heavy golden crown. He walked through the halls of the palace –hallways that he had imagined- looking at each beautiful thing that adorned the walls. Lavish gold and twinkling silver, paintings older than the palace itself, and mirrors that reflected everything that Louis had longed to see. His face had filled out, surely from eating pastries and the nicest meals and his smile was white the way that celebrities had them. His navy blue overcoat fit him perfectly, like it had been measured to him, and on his feet he could see a pair of dress shoes that had been polished just that morning. 

There was, however, one thing that Louis hadn’t expected to see in the mirror, and that was Prince Harry. There, smiling along beside him was the Prince in all his glory. There he stood, in a matching overcoat of port wine red, hugging his every line, and glistening with gold detailing all across it. His long hair fell onto his shoulders under a crown just as heavy as Louis’. 

The mirror reflected everything that Louis’ longed to see. 

***  
Louis sat in the kitchen early the next morning, panicking about what his mother would say once she came down the stairs. Would she call him out on it, or would she ignore it. Louis wasn’t sure which one he wanted more. 

Part of him wanted her to scream at him, and tell him all about how upset his father would be when he heard the bad news, because he kind of thought he deserved it, but the other part of him really wanted his Mummy, and he wanted her to rub his back and tell him that everything would be alright no matter who he loved. 

He sipped his tea before it could cool down sufficiently and burned his tongue, so he was too busy dealing with that to focus at all on the fact that his mother had arrived in the kitchen. She didn’t take any notice of him either, and so Louis feared that she would continue to ignore him. 

She poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle Louis had left on and drowned it in milk like a good English person, as she always said. She took three long sips of from her cup, turned away from him before he did anything else. Then out of the blue she said, “The post office opens at 9, how about we go before you have to work?” 

Louis was absolutely bewildered. What did she have to post? Louis didn’t think that she’d ever been to the post office before. “What?” He couldn’t help but ask. 

“Well we’ve got to get your application in, haven’t we?” She said, then turning around finally to look him in the eye. His application. As in she actually expected him to actually apply to The Selection. To marry Prince Harry. Male Prince Harry. 

“What?” he couldn’t help but ask again. It all seemed too surreal. There was no way in hell that his mother, who hadn’t known he was gay until the night before, excepted him to apply to marry His Royal Highness, Prince Harry of England. His first instinct was to protest, shaking his head and stuttering out a half hearted, “Mum, I’m not, uh, you know” 

His mother looked at him like she had seen through every single thing that Louis had just said, “oh please Louis, I’ve known you were gay since you were a toddler, you can’t pull one over on me” she flicked her hand like she was pushing his own protest back in his face. “I also happen to have known that you’ve been completely in love with one Prince Harry for just as long, so go get dressed and we’ll go fill out an application, yeah?” 

Louis, still a little bit in shock from it all, scurried out of the room like a scared cat. He could almost feel his mother’s smirk on his back as he ran up the stairs. Daisy and Phoebe were already dressed and ready for school, sitting on their bed with their dolls between them, talking happily amongst themselves about whatever it was little girls conversed about. Fizzy was dressed as well, with his nose in some book about a terrible, post-nuclear disaster world. That seemed to be her favourite genre, despite the fact they were all awful and the love stories never made any sense (okay, maybe Louis had read a couple of them himself). Lottie was not ready at all; in fact she hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet. Her long blonde hair masked her face and she looked like a mountain of bedding rather than a teenage girl. 

Louis took it upon himself to shake her awake to which he was greeted with a symphony of groans and profanity. “Get up Lots” he whispered to her so as not to be the object of her abuse any more, “it’s like 8:30, you’ve got to get to school,” despite the fact that it was actually 7:30 and she didn’t have to leave for another hour. What was a big brother in he didn’t torment his little sister? 

Lottie shot up in bed, with her hair still all over her face and a look of panic across her face. “Really?” she exclaimed. 

As soon as Louis nodded she practically sprinted across the room to find her clothes and then straight out the door to the bathroom to change. “Mum’s getting breakfast if you want it,” he told the rest of them, all of who looked very much at piece despite the fact that their sister was in a state of disarray. 

*** 

Later, once his sisters were all at school, and the two of them had dropped the babies off at daycare, Louis and his mum set off walking towards the post office. It was near the centre of town, by the restaurant that Louis worked at. It was a beautiful spring day, where the sun sat high in the sky unmasked by clouds and the flowers were starting to come up all around them, so the air smelt floral and sweet. Louis wished he could have stopped to smell them, but his mum was on a mission of sorts, and there was to be no straying from the path. 

His mum had styled her hair nicely, like she always did when she went into the city centre. She was wearing her best dress, the baby blue one that she laid carefully in her chest of drawers, away from anything that could harm it. It was the only relic she had from her old life, before she had gotten caught up with Louis’ dad. When her parents still welcomed her into their house with open arms and loving smiles. Life hadn’t been like that for a very long time, and sometimes Louis even forgot that it once had been. 

He didn’t remember much from the days before his father came back. He’d been four and everything was a little bit blurry, but he had a vague image of his grandmother’s face and his grandfather’s hugs. He had a blurry image of weekend visits to their house, which was warm and big. Louis remembered that they had had a TV that filled the whole wall –or at least it seemed like that in Louis’ young mind. His grandmother baked her own bread, and his mum would smile so brightly whenever she presented it to her daughter. His mum never smiled like that anymore. 

Sometimes it was hard for him to understand why she stayed with Louis’ dad, and why she had even accepted him back into her life in the first place. He wasn’t good to her. He wasn’t even good to any of them. He spent money they didn’t have on things he didn’t need and never gave a shit about anyone at home. Half the time, he wasn’t even grateful when Louis came to pick him up from the police station. Sometimes he would even yell at him for showing up, saying that the last place he wanted to go back to was home. Louis wanted him gone as much as he wanted to leave, and yet his mum always convinced him to he should stay just a little bit longer. Louis never understood it. 

The line in front of the post office had more people in it than Louis thought even inhabited Doncaster. They were lined up around the block, nervously in their nicest clothes and Louis felt very underdressed in his branded restaurant shirt. There were all sorts of boys crowded around the post office: some younger, some older, some poorer and some richer. They all blended together in front of Louis’ eyes though, into a sea of blond and brunet heads lining the office. 

He and his mum joined the line along the back of the office, by a fence that encircled the dumpster and air conditioner. Louis could feel his palms sweating, because everyone was wearing their best clothes, which meant that there would be a picture. Sure, Louis looked nice enough in his work attire, but he would have put much more effort into his looks if he had known that this would be his first impression on Prince Harry. He was screwed, wasn’t he? 

The line was hellishly long, and hellishly slow. As soon as anyone made it into the building, they had to fill out their entire application and then take their picture, which added up to close to ten minutes per person, and they were doing nothing to streamline the process for hours. Louis had to call in late to work at 10:30, when he was barely around the corner from the back of the building. 

Finally, a girl came out of the post office with a tall stack of blank applications, and that entire line burst into cheers for her as she started to hand them out to the boys. When she got to Louis’ part of the line she was nearly out of applications, but Louis used every aggressive bone in his body to grab one from the pile before they could all be snapped up. 

Eventually, when Louis reached the front of the line with a long finished application in his hands, stating:

Louis Tomlinson  
18  
Doncaster, South Yorkshire  
Profession: Waiter  
Hobbies: Reading, Spending time with family

And very little else. Many of the questions were simply filled with N/A, like “what is your university major?” and “what notable prizes or awards have you been given”

They pushed him quickly into the post office, where a boy was getting his picture taken to his left and measured him against a large ruler pasted against the wall. It reminded Louis a little too much of a mug shot. 

Finally they shuffled him over to a stool and only told his to smile. When they were finished taking his picture, they didn’t even bother to show the photo to him, but rather rushed him out the back door, and that was that. 

He was in the running then, and that was all he could do. 

***

The Selection results were to be given that Sunday during the report, and Louis had never been so nervous in his life. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted the results to be. Part of him wanted to be chosen, and to finally have the chance to walk the hallways of the palace, in the sort of clothes he’d been dreaming of, with Prince Harry at his side, but he also knew that if he were chosen, his father would know. Even if he hadn’t heard it from the family, and wasn’t home to watch the results, he would find out eventually that his son had been picked to vie for the affections of the Prince, and he wouldn’t care that Louis would get to be royalty, no he would only care that Louis was a faggot. 

They all ate dinner very quickly that night, and not just because there wasn’t much to eat. Collectively they were all nervous, and Louis thought that maybe his sisters thought that the report started when dinner ended, as it usually did. Instead, they had fifteen extra minutes to kill doing nothing while they all worried themselves away. Louis’ mum came to sit with him with her arm wrapped around him tightly, as if to tell him that it would be all right either way. 

Louis sat and twiddled his thumbs for a few minutes before Phoebe got up to sit right in from of him on the floor across from the couch. Louis could tell she was going to ask another one of her questions, so when she opened her mouth wide and took a deep breath, Louis was prepared. “Do you want to marry Prince Harry?” she asked him out of the blue. 

Louis thought about that for a moment. “I’ve never met him” he thought out loud and realized that that was not going to stop her little brain from thinking about it, “I don’t know him, so I don’t know if I’d like to marry him yet.” He reasoned, but could tell that he was crushing her dreams of becoming a princess by way of Louis’ marriage, “but if he picks me to come to the palace and get to know him, maybe I’ll decide that I do want to marry him.” That seemed to shut her up enough. 

Only moments later Daisy came to sit in front of their mother and asked in her own quiet voice if they would all be princesses when Louis became King –Louis didn’t quite have the patience to explain to her that whoever did win would not, in fact, be King, but rather Prince Consort. Their mum sighed, “I’m not sure, honey. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, there are lots of boys to pick from, and Louis may have just slipped through the cracks.” That was her way of saying that Louis might not even get picked because he wasn’t what the Prince wanted. It was a perfectly plausible possibility, after all. There were probably hundreds of thousands of boys to choose from, and assumedly the Prince had a type, and the type might not have included Louis. 

He was just preparing himself completely for disappointment when the TV flickered over to the familiar orange and purple set, complete with Martin McSilver in a hilarious silver suit. Rather unfortunately, the silver caught the light in every bad way it could, accentuating Mr. McSilver’s pudgy tummy. Beside him, there was a large touch screen with a greyed out map of England on it, ready to be filled with the names and faces of each boy who had a chance to become the next Prince Consort of England. He had his same blinding white smile on, prepared to congratulate every boy chosen through the television. 

Out from behind a curtain came Prince Harry. He was wearing a ridiculous black suit with bright red pinstripes running down it. It made it seem like his shoulders were too wide and his legs too skinny, it made it look like his torso was massively long and his legs were short and stubby. His hair was tousled expertly, but if Louis knew anything about that hair, he knew that by the end of the night there would little to it but a full ball of grease. He stood in his usual pigeon toed way and should have looked stupid, but his bright green eyes and pretty face were too distracting for Louis to insult any more. 

They’d given him a microphone beside Martin McSilver, where he would be announcing each of his picks for contention. Around the country nerves were probably high, but within the audience, the atmosphere seemed calm and happy. Louis found that only slightly strange, because surely Harry was nervous about announcing his future husband somewhere within the 46 names he would say that night, but he also had to be at peace with the fact the eventually he would find someone that he liked enough to marry. His picks couldn’t all be heinous, right? 

“Good evening everybody!” Martin McSilver opened excitedly, “It’s an exciting night around the nation, isn’t it? Somewhere in a living room somewhere in the country, England’s next Prince Consort is about to be called. It was a long few days in the decision room, I had the opportunity to sit in for an hour and see the sort of process every application went through. Let’s take a look” he invited the camera to roll the clip. 

It showed a lavish room somewhere in the palace, with the floors piled high with piles upon piles of applications. Each two-page application added up to what must have been a massive amount of sorting. Sat around the table were Prince Harry and two other men –probably advisors. They told Martin that they were looking through the applications from Notts at that moment. And explained their sorting process. They would read three at a time, one for each of them, and then decide if any of them were worth keeping for the favourites pile. Then they would go through the favourites pile, and slowly narrow it down until they ended up with one boy left. It must have taken them hours to even sort through one pile, as it seemed like every single boy between the ages of 18 and 22 had applied judging by the massive stacks strewn around the room. 

Eventually the clip cut back to Martin. “That was some hard work,” Martin said, over exaggeratedly, so it kind of seemed like he was fresh out of breathe, “But, I think you are very happy with your choices, aren’t you, Harry?” Prince Harry nodded a few too many times, and it started to seem like perhaps he was overcompensating. “Well,” Martin stated again, “let’s get to the part you’ve all been waiting for, starting at the South and moving our way North. Harry, would you like to do the honours?” 

Harry nodded again, and took a breath before beginning, “I would like to start off by thanking all the applicants for applying, these were very hard decisions. I hope that each of the selected men tonight come to the palace open minded and ready to allow me to get to know them. I look forward to meeting you all,” he opened diplomatically, “as the first region, my selection from Cornwall is Asher Duncan” 

The studio burst into applause all around. Various faces of North London citizens in pretty dresses and tailored suits flashed across the screen with faces of such happiness that one might have believed that they actually knew Asher. 

Mr. McSilver took over then to put Asher’s picture on the screen beside him. He was blond and broad, with a perfectly white smile and a button up shirt on. The screen said he was six feet one inch tall, and his picture sure did look it. He was 20 years old and a student. He looked rich. Louis couldn’t put his finger on what it was that made him look like that, but he definitely did look rich as anything. 

Asher’s face shrunk to fit into his region on the map and the camera flipped back to Prince Harry and his microphone, “my second selection, from Devon, is Matthew Adams” 

Matthew was a brunet; he was apparently six feet two inches and 21 years old. Louis was starting to sense a pattern when it came to who was getting picked. Harry very obviously had a type, only two choices in, and that type was tall, broad boys. 

Louis’ hope began to waiver then, because he was not even close to six feet tall. In fact, they had measured him at the application, so he couldn’t even lie and say that he was 5’9 instead of his actual 5’7. 

The next two selections were similar. William Macfarlane and Ron Hall from Somerset and Dorset respectively were both still just as tall and rich looking as the last two. 

Eventually, Louis’ family began to realize that there was going to be little excitement to the Selection and started to scatter throughout the house, favouring dolls or reading rather than watching the same boring face flash across the screen with a different name and region. 

Louis’ mum stayed close to him, though. Even if they both knew that realistically there was little chance of a fluke that would cause the Prince to choose 5’7 Louis Tomlinson, a waiter from South Yorkshire. 

They started to mix it up a little bit when it reached Berkshire, when Harry selected an Asian boy by the name of Harry Chen. Although it was wasn’t too much a stretch as he was also a student at a fancy university. 

Louis couldn’t help but start to feel a little bit bitter, because the amount of hot, tall jocks Harry had picked up couldn’t possibly exist in the gay community. A certain amount of them _had_ to be straight, or a least mostly straight. There was no way that every single paper in that pile belonged to a gay man, there just weren’t that many of them, especially ones who looked like that. 

Eventually they all started to blend together to a certain extent, with only a few sticking out in Louis’ mind. 

Niall Horan from South London stuck out because he bothered Louis, just from the way he looked. His picture depicted a boy with bleached blond hair sweeping across his forehead and a cable knit grey sweater. He looked like everything Louis imagined London looked like. They were all young people with too much money to know what to do with and a feeling of invincibility that just couldn’t be shaken out of their minds. He was apparently an entrepreneur, which sounded like an excuse to say that he was using his parents’ money to live out some fever dream business. He probably sold artisanal pot out of his apartment and called it a business. 

From Suffolk there was Edward Sheeran, who was a musician. Louis kind of wanted to laugh at that, it wasn’t as if anyone actually made any money as a musician. Maybe that was why he was trying to become a Prince. He also looked a little bit like a troll, but a cuddly troll, which confused Louis even more. 

From the West Midlands, directly after the announcement that Harry was actually considering marrying a man named _Wolf_ , came Liam Payne. He was confusingly buff and boyish all at the same time, and it bothered Louis for some inexplicable reason. He was also a firefighter, which was undeniably sexy, (no wonder he got picked). He had hair carefully styled to make him look like a footballer and he looked like he probably owned expensive hair product. 

They inched closer and closer to South Yorkshire on the map and a fuzzy feeling in Louis’ stomach started to creep up to his throat. There was little hope left in his body, but he couldn’t help but be nervous about it. His sisters even came back to the living room to watch it. Martin McSilver had just finished talking about Miles Seaman who sounded like he should have been a fisherman, but rather worked in a furniture store when Louis really started to feel like he might vomit. 

They were one boy away from Louis’ South Yorkshire and he was so nervous that his ears started to ring just a little bit, making Harry’s voice seem tinny and far away. It was as if Louis was underwater, helpless to do anything but drown slowly but surely. 

“From Humberside, I’ve selected Casey Banks” Harry said in his distorted voice. Louis thought that he’d become tired after 35 announcements, all greeted with cheers from adoring fans, all as if the men selected were their own sons, and cousins and friends. Their faces were stuck in plastic smiles. They were plastic Londoners, with nothing but money and promise. 

Casey Banks was fairly boring looking. He had a mop of curly light brown hair atop his head and a toothy, off kilter smile. He was training to become a policeman apparently, and Louis could only imagine that in a couple of years, he would probably be seeing him in the police station when he went to pick up his dad from the drunk tank. He’d have to keep a look out for him later, to tell him that he’d watched him being selected, although the entire country watched him being selected, didn’t they? 

Then, Casey Banks’ face shrunk to fit into the Humberside spot of the map, and it was officially South Yorkshire’s turn. Louis’ stomach tugged at it’s lining and he felt kind of like he had to pee, but he couldn’t leave for the bathroom then, not only because the anticipation, but also because his mum’s grip was so tight around his shoulder that he thought he might collapse in on himself, and Phoebe was effectively lying across him with a very concerned (and very cute) look in her face. 

The camera flicked back to Harry, with his hands behind his back and leaned over the microphone because they hadn’t put it up to the right height and there was no time to fix it. He opened his mouth and Louis felt nerves he didn’t even know he had. 

“From South Yorkshire, Louis Tomlinson” 

And then Louis saw his face on Martin McSilver’s screen. There he was, in his work uniform (the logo blurred out of course), his eyes with bags under them and his cheekbones too prominent under his skin. 

There was his height at a measly 5’7 and his profession: waiter. It couldn’t be a mistake then. Prince Harry had actually chosen him as a contender for his hand in marriage. As in he’d read Louis’ application, and saw his tired photo, and actually decided that he could see himself marrying Louis. _Louis_.

He didn’t jump up like his mother or Lottie had. Instead he sat there and looked at his own picture until it shrunk into the map, and even after that. He sat through West Yorkshire’s Zayn Malik and looked at his little face on the grainy screen of the TV until it stopped looking recognizably his. 

 

****  
Louis woke up the next morning with the birds, and more importantly, Daisy shaking his shoulder. He groaned as he rolled over towards her to see her with tears in her eyes. He immediately sat up and pulled her close to him, into his lap. “Dais, honey, what’s wrong?” 

Daisy only sobbed more into his chest, with her little fingers clutching the neck of his t-shirt. “You’re going away!” she cried into his skin and he couldn’t help but tear up, himself. “You’re going to leave us and forgot all about me!” 

Louis’ heart felt like it was breaking over and over. “Oh, Daisy,” he tried to calm her, running his hands through her chestnut brown hair, “I’ll only be gone for a little while, and then I’ll be right back with all sorts of stories about all the Princesses and Princes I got to meet” 

Daisy stopped sobbing for a second as she looked up into Louis’ eyes with bright blue irises, glossy with tears, “But you’ll be a Prince then, and Princes can’t live _here_!” 

“Daisy” he said quietly, so as not to wake up Lottie, who was tossing and turning in the bed next to him, “I’m not going to become a Prince. There are lots of other boys who are going too, and one of them will be the Prince” 

Daisy didn’t take well to that at all, her face scrunched up until her nostrils started to twitch with tension and she looked more like a kitten than an angry little girl, “But, but, but” she reasoned, as if that was a valid argument, before continuing to elaborate, “Prince Harry picked you!” 

Louis sighed, he stroked Daisy’s hair some more, this time trailing down to her back, “Darling, he also picked 45 other boys. And then he has to get to know all of us and decide which one he likes the best” 

“But Lou’,” she said, now defiantly climbing around in Louis’ lap to look him straight in the eye, “He has to like you best, everyone likes you best” 

***

A black car pulled up in front of Louis’ house early that morning, and for a second he thought that his father –who still hadn’t come home- had gotten himself wrapped up in the gangs again, and that perhaps one of them had come to collect money they didn’t have for drugs that his father had short changed him on. But instead, a lady got out of the car in a pair of patent leather pumps and a pencil skirt. Her hair was wrapped up in one of those French twists that Louis had tried so any times to do for Lottie, only for it to all fall apart the second he started to push pins into it. She carried with her a black clipboard with the unmistakable insignia of the royal family on its underside. 

Louis was already dressed for work and he and his mum were enjoying a cup of tea before the chaos of breakfast and school started with the girls. His mum noticed the car first, and Louis reckoned she had jumped to the same conclusion about Louis’ father by the way her shoulders visibly loosened when the car revealed a single, black high-heeled shoe.

The woman carried herself like she might have been a noble herself. She held her chin high above her neck and her shoulders stayed square no matter how much she should have been swaying. She walked carefully, always in an exactly straight line with one heel in front of the other, heel to toe. Louis already didn’t like her. 

When she rang the doorbell, she rang it three times, as if poor people couldn’t hear the door ringing. Really, poor people would hear the doorbell better in their little houses, wouldn’t they? Louis couldn’t imagine that the doorbell in the palace always got answered, with so much space between everyone and the door. 

Louis’ mum answered it, and from behind her, Louis could see her face when the door revealed his mother. She looked disgusted, and Louis wanted to punch her square in the face. Louis’ mother was nothing but lovely and if her apron had a few soaked in stains, it had nothing to do with the sort of house she kept, and much more to do with the fact that she was raising seven children, six of which were under the age of 18. 

“I’m looking for Louis Tomlinson,” the woman said without any of the manners Louis expected she had been taught to use in finishing school. She didn’t even greet Louis’ mum, who had answered to door with a smile. Louis was less inclined to identify himself. If that was what all royal staff members were like, Louis didn’t want to go to the palace after all. 

His mum gave him away, though. She looked back at him from the door with the same smile, despite the fact that the woman had treated her with nothing but rudeness. “C’mon Louis” she beckoned with the sort of force she always used when Louis refused to be treated the way they often were. _People will treat you like a lesser person_ , her words echoed in his mind, _but Louis, you have to know, somewhere in your heart, that you did nothing to deserve it_. The unspoken words there being that his father had brought it on all of them. 

Louis approached slowly. He was apprehensive to give this woman any information about him. Could she pull his invitation away from him, when she decided that he wasn’t worthy of the crown? “Hello,” he greeted from a safe distance away, extending his hand to her. 

She doesn’t shake it. 

“Oh good, Louis isn’t it?” she asked, still not introducing herself, “is there somewhere, uh, we can sit to speak about the logistics of your stay at the palace?” Louis isn’t dumb. He knew that the “uh” was a replacement for another word. Namely the word _clean_. Because this woman clearly thought that poor people lived in absolute dilapidation. 

Louis forced a smile onto his face, “of course, why don’t we go to the living room?” hoping that she would have to walk through the piles of toys on the floor and see that the only mess that they lived in was one caused by the babies running rampant. They sat down on the old couch in the living room, the one that collapsed in on the sitter until their entire lower half was engulfed in soft couch fabric. Royalty probably had stiff couches, ones made more for show than living. 

She sat primly in the seat, obviously uncomfortable to be even in Louis’ house. She was probably running through all the awful diseases she thought she might get from the couch, and how much Purell she’d have to use to get the germs off the second she got into the car after their discussion. It took her a ridiculous amount of time to get comfortable enough to start talking, and by then Louis’ sisters had started to come down the stairs, ready for school. 

She looked at each girl with a similar look of dismay. Even if they all looked perfect, with not a hair out of place and outfits painstakingly washed to get any sense of distress out. Lottie had the same mascara on, and Louis thought that he’d better buy her a tube of her own so she didn’t have to sneak around quite as much with it all. 

“Well” she started once each of the girls was in the kitchen for tea and breakfast, “I’ve got a few forms for you to sign. Nothing too crazy, just a non-disclosure agreement, release form, terms and conditions of your participation, and a waiver” 

That all made Louis very nervous. The non-disclosure agreement made sense, as they probably didn’t want Louis calling up the Daily Mail with exclusive photos and interviews (the palace staff would probably be releasing the rumours themselves), and the release form was fairly simple; after all, it was all to be televised. But the waiver was what set Louis on edge. What on earth would he be suing them for in the first place?

As he read it, he slowly became even more nervous.

“If the participant sustains a major injury resulting in permanent injury and/or death, The Royal Family of England will not be found responsible under any circumstances.”

If Louis _died_ they couldn’t be found guilty for his death. How would even die? It was _the palace_ , surly it was fairly safe. Also, was there a history of serious injuries being caused by the Selection? Didn’t they just sit around and try to prove that they would be the best pretty face for Prince Harry to rule beside.

“An unsubstantiated claim about character or actions of the participant made by The Royal Family of England cannot be viewed as liable.”

So they would be releasing their own rumours. Simple enough. Louis couldn’t help but wonder what rumours they would release about him. _Is South Yorkshire’s Louis Tomlinson Stirring Up Trouble in The Palace?_ Louis wanted to laugh, but the woman’s face told him that she would not appreciate it under any circumstances. 

He eventually agreed to sign the waiver and moved on to the contract. 

The same unsettling details ran throughout that, too. Even more disturbing rules came to light as he read through pages and pages of the contract’s terms.

“The wishes of the Prince and other nobility will be followed by the participant with no contest”

Louis couldn’t help but find that one slightly unsettling. He was practically signing away his right to free will by signing that contract and he didn’t know if he trusted The Prince and other nobility to sufficiently take care of him in the absence of his own ability to do so.

“The Prince has the finally say in who he chooses to marry”

That one was upsettingly archaic. In the modern world, royalty was still allowed to force him to marry one of them if they decided that they wanted to marry him. What if he decided that he hated The Prince? He would still have to spend the rest of his life with him if he so decided it. But it was also relieving to hear that it wasn’t a team of advisors or the King who decided who The Prince’s husband would be.

And there, tacked onto the end, obviously drafted very recently, was the one condition that Louis felt would actually cause justice. Perhaps Harry had realized, just as Louis had, that there was no way in hell that so many tall, hot jocks existed amongst the gay population of England.

“Any participant found not to be attracted to men will be immediately disqualified from the competition with no compensation for the period of time in which they did participate.”

Louis could only imagine that they would probably be disqualifying at least a couple of Harry’s jocks within the first couple of days. But then again, how would they test for gayness?

On their registration form, there was a very prominent question in which the participant had to specify their sexual orientation. Louis easily wrote “gay” down on the dotted line, and when he looked back up, he could see that the woman was looking at him rather intently. _So that was how they were testing gayness_. 

Louis wondered how many of the selected boys had hesitated on that question, but he also couldn’t help but think that it was a little bit of a stretch to think that Louis could be straight. Even if he hadn’t been out until a week before, had she _seen_ Louis?

When he finished signing all of the papers, the woman smiled for the first time since her arrival and continued on, rushing so that she could get off of the couch as soon as possible. “Well, with all of that done, I’ll go quickly over our travel itinerary for next Monday. A car will arrive for you, and we will be flying to London with a few other contenders from the surrounding areas. It should be a very quiet affair, and we ask that you don’t tell anyone when you will be leaving except for your family. Don’t worry about what you wear, our stylist team will dress you before you meet The Prince” 

And it all felt very real for the first time. Louis was really going to meet the subject of many years of internal conflict. He was finally going to see those stupid suits and greasy hair and perfect lips and sparkling green eyes. He was going to be in the presence of all of the beauty that he had always craved. He’d probably sleep in silk sheets, in a room by himself. Maybe he’d even have a bathroom to himself. Louis tried to imagine being surrounded by crown moulding and maybe a maid. _Did they say there were dressing him?_ In clothes fit for a Prince, made of expensive fabrics, maybe even one of those $1000 hoodies or $400 t-shirts that Louis could never wrap his head around when he saw the drug dealers wearing them. 

He was getting everything he had ever dreamed of, and yet he was terrified. He couldn’t even imagine what life would be like in the palace. What did people even do all day there? No one had a proper job, so how did they send their time? They probably had things like computers and phones to play with, but Louis wasn’t even sure what people did with those all day anyways. He’d never had a smartphone, because they were off the charts expensive and they needed that money to pay for electricity. He’d had a shitty little cell phone for a while, one where the screen was a shade of green and you could only type texts by holding down the buttons until it reached the right letter. His dad had taken that one as a burner phone at one point and Louis hadn’t had the courage to ask about it ever again. 

As he shut the door behind the woman’s back, he fall against it, overcome with worries of it all being too real. His sisters had long since left for school and he really should have been getting to work, but he couldn’t think of anything but the following Monday, when he would arrive at the palace he had dreamed of for years, to compete to marry the Prince he had been dreaming of the night before. 

“Mum” he sobbed into the door. All of a sudden, he felt the soft hand of his mother on his shoulder, and the tiny hand of one of the babies on his back, trying to soothe him. “What have I done?” 

Louis’ mother wasn’t one for pity, in fact, she was fairly against it on a moral basis, but it seemed like she set that aside for a moment and rubbed Louis’ back soothingly until he let out a deep sigh of relaxation. “Darling,” she started, but paused before continuing, “just enjoy yourself, okay? None of us care if you end up marrying a Prince. You’ll marry whomever you fall in love with. But enjoy the time there, yeah?” 

Louis slowly turned himself around to see his mother smiling comfortingly at him and Doris’ little face with her four teeth and her blonde hair falling over her eyes. “Yeah, mum” he agreed. Because he had to live his time at the palace to the fullest. Even if it would only be a few hours before Harry realized that he was not his type at all and sent him home. He’d look at that turquoise paint and the perfect white lining every window, he’d find one of the mirrors framed in gold and a painting with beautiful, vibrant colours. He’d take it all in and enjoy his fifteen minutes of royalty. 

If it was all he would ever get, he needed to make the most of it. He needed to commit enough of it to memory that he could dream of it for years afterwards. 

It was his chance, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it.


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter that i already had finished. Don't get too excited, I don't think I can keep up an update schedule of every 4 days.

A car arrived discreetly for Louis before the sun actually had actually risen on Friday morning. He hugged his sisters goodbye and kissed his mum’s head before grabbing his little bag of clothes and heading out the door. There was this certain sense that he was at the precipice of something big, something absolutely massive. 

Even if he got sent home in a matter of hours –as soon as Harry realized he wasn’t tall enough to marry- he would at least be getting a ridiculous sum of money, the sort of money that could send his sisters to college, or buy a house in a nicer part of town, or send his Dad to rehab. And of course, there would be more money if he stuck around for a little longer, but that really wasn’t up to him. 

Inside the black car was the same awful woman from the Monday before, who’s name Louis absolutely refused to learn. She looked at Louis’ hoodie and jeans and Louis could practically see her recoil, not even being able to bare the thought that she would have to be seen with a boy who didn’t own a pair of formal pants. She smoothed her skirt down as if to motion to him that perhaps he should have dressed better. It’s snooty and Louis’ heart sinks at the fact that for at least the next 12 hours he’ll have to live with that. 

She motioned to his bag next, with her eyebrows raised to ask what was in it without having to talk to him. “Just sweatpants” he says, “for the plane home.” She didn’t like that one bit, looking at him as if he was crazy to bring a change of clothes, which really was crazy because Louis looked up how long it would take to fly from Manchester to London and he did not plan to sit in jeans for an hour in a plane as well as an hour and a half in the car twice that day. 

She scoffed, but seemed to accept it. Soon enough they were off on the way to Manchester and she was spouting off things about how the day would go once they arrived. She said that as planned, all of Yorkshire will be on the plane from Manchester, so there would be four boys for Louis to meet, and that he should already know their names and faces by the time they’re introduced. It must be a posh thing, pretending you don’t know someone when you meet them. She proceeded to pull out pictures of each of the boys, and tell him all sorts of things about them. 

“This is Billy O’Deall, he’s the one from Manchester. He’s a student, affluent family,” she tells Louis. Billy O’Deall looked like he came from an affluent family, he also looked like he probably went to a boarding school and was the sort of kid who would have laughed at Louis’ beat up backpack and second hand textbooks on his way to school. He was blond and his hair curled over his forehead in an obviously intentional way, and he had his sunglasses on his head as he tried desperately to look cool but approachable. Louis knew that move: it wasn’t hard to accomplish. 

Next up was Kamil Seif, “he’s Indian.” Is all she said for a second, which made it very clear that that was the reason that he had been selected, “middle class, he’s graduating this year with an engineering degree.” He looked fairly normal, smart even, with his glasses sitting on his nose and his pearly white smile blaring through. He was there for diversity’s sake though, and would hardly last longer than he needed to. 

Next up was the boy who must’ve been announced right after Louis, and so he had no memory of him, but as he stared at his face he kind of wished he had stopped to look at him the first time instead of staring at his own face on the TV. “Zayn Malik, he’s a tattoo artist, which is frankly a little too edgy for the monarchy but we can all see why he’s here” she said in the sort of way that made it seem like they might be friends. Which was false -like incredibly false- and even if by some divine miracle Louis found himself a place in the palace for a while, he would never, ever be friendly with her. 

Zayn was probably the prettiest boy Louis had ever seen, and not in the sort of way where he’d actually like to proposition him, but in the sort of way where he’d like to just sit and be mesmerized by him for hours. His eyes were a shade of caramel that seemed almost impossible. Maybe he wore contacts. But either way, his cheekbones made up for it. If Louis thought that he had any chance when he was up against that sort of man, he was delusional.

***

“You’ve got to be kidding me” Louis exclaimed once they’d arrived into a palace dressing room more lavish than Louis’ entire house. On the hanger in front of him was possibly the most ugly outfit Louis had ever seen. While to his right Zayn was zipping up his black jeans and a leather jacket obviously strategically chosen to cover his tattoos from national television, the maid assigned to him was holding up a pair of maroon pants, a white button up with a short blue collar, and a pair of _striped fucking suspenders_. Who did these people think he was? “I’m not wearing that,” he told them pointedly.

“Louis, we’re trying to market you as whimsical” said that same awful lady who Louis now figured was his advisor. 

“Well, you ended up with ‘gayest Brit ever’. I mean, the whole country knows I’m gay, I’m literally here to try to marry a man, do we really need to get the message across any more?” He scoffs. They aren’t marketing him as whimsical, Louis isn’t dumb, and he knows that they’re marketing him as the super gay one because every single other boy that Harry had chosen was too straight looking and so the only way to make him stand out would be to make him seem super gay. 

“We are going for fun and approachable” She sighed, sick of the conversation already, because they both knew that Louis was going to end up wearing the god-awful outfit. 

“Well, I’m going to look like the Union Jack threw up all over 1822” He stared back at her, knowing full well that she wasn’t going to cave. He had also arbitrarily picked that date, and had no clue if anything patriotic had even happened in 1822. He prayed she wouldn’t point that out. 

“His royal highness, when choosing you, said that you looked cute, we’re just trying to emulate that,” she explained and Louis wanted to throw up. He could only imagine Prince Harry sitting at a table with all of his advisors _and his parents for god’s sakes_ , and looking at Louis’ picture only to announce to the entire table that “this one is cute, I’m taking him”. 

But then again, Harry is twenty-one and pretty out and about on the club scene, meaning that he probably didn’t use cute in the sort of way that everyone was interpreting it as. “What, do you also have a bow-tie to finish out the four year old at a birthday party look?” The woman finally left Louis alone after that comment, giving up on any semblance of a chance to have Louis willingly agree, and realizing that Louis fully intended to wear the outfit eventually and just liked to pick a fight. 

As he pulls _the fucking suspenders_ over his shoulders, Zayn turns to him and smiled, “you may look like a mime at a pride parade, but at least you haven’t been labelled ‘the Bradford bad boy” eh?” He played with the sleeves of the jacket he was wearing, pulling them up just a little bit to reveal the tips of his arm tattoos. It was the first time that Zayn had actually spoken to Louis since the moment that they’d met. Louis had just kind of decided that Zayn looked like the silent-mysterious type, and had chosen not to push him beyond introductions. 

“They’re already trying to brand us! I mean there are 48 of us, it isn’t like anyone is going to remember which one we are based on what we wear!” Louis laughed exasperatedly. “I mean, all of them basically look the same anyways, the Prince has obviously got a type” 

“Tall, subtly gay jocks, yeah?” Zayn laughed too, and Louis could only help but laugh, “I’m here to be the edgy one, it’s a plus that I’m not white, but they got their token Middle Eastern Kamil over there” He said slightly quieter, motioning her head over behind him to Kamil who was standing in front of a mirror in the corner of the room deciding whether to button the blue blazer they’ve given him to where over a green crewneck. His outfit was painfully “professor chic” and his glasses are crystal clear, reflecting the mirror back at itself. 

“I’ve still not figured out why I’m here, but I think it’s to be the token gay one…among a group of entirely gay men” Louis smirked. “I’m not even that gay, like they could have picked someone who sounded way more gay than me to do the job” 

Zayn looked him up and down, as if deciding where he would put him on the gay scale, and it was pretty clear that in that outfit he was as far up as one could be. Zayn opened his mouth to speak again, but some woman who wasn’t Louis’ advisor, but looked equally awful came in clapping her hands, telling them that it was time to meet The Prince. 

They were led down the hallway to a room where Louis expected they would stand in a group while Prince Harry introduced himself, but instead he found 48 tables. The room was a sort of salmon colour that looked a bit like vomit and was decorated by crown moulding with arches and bulbs all white as snow. It was hard to tell what the room was used for normally, because it was completely empty save for the tables, which were all dressed in linen tablecloths and little else, because Louis assumed it was meant to make it feel like a dinner date –just without the dinner. 

On each table was a little golden number, like the ones you’d put on top of birthday cakes when it was something extra special like a 50th or a 16th. Louis had one of those for his 16th birthday, and it was the best gift he could have gotten, but then seeing 48 of them set out he was reminded of how dumb it was to be so excited for something as silly as a cake topper. 

They’d all been given numbers already: Louis is number 37. It was awfully ironic that the same people who are trying to market them as people, were the ones who were only thinking of them as numbers. 

They sat Louis down right behind the golden 37, with Zayn to his right staring at his own number 38. Louis looks around the room to find all of the jocks sitting behind their own gilded numbers in outfits so unlike Louis and Zayn’s that Louis wanted to shrink away from the entire situation. For a moment he wondered if it was possible to disqualify himself before the cameras even rolled. The entire room was filled with blazers and sweaters, and there Louis was, sitting in his suspenders and maroon pants. He would have never worn this at home, and not just because he was afraid of looking too gay, but also because he was gay enough to have some sense of style.

***

Prince Harry came in wearing a curtain. He looked absolutely ridiculous and clashed tremendously with the vomit –salmon- walls of the room. His hair made him look like a cave man or maybe a Tarzan wannabe. He looked about as princely as Louis did, and looked a lot more like a struggling model than a future leader. Louis had expected some massive golden crown sat atop his mane like the king of the pride, but instead he looks like a Gucci model lost on his way to the runway.

He introduced himself quietly, almost shyly as if scared that the men won’t like him –which was dumb because he had nearly fifty men vying for the chance to marry him. He also introduced himself as just _Harry_ not Price Harry or His Royal Highness Harry. He fiddled with the buttons of his curtain-suit and played with his hair, as he was lead by his advisors over to the man sitting behind a little number one. 

Louis remembered that his name is Asher Duncan, and he wass looking down at the phone that he’s hidden under the table. Louis didn’t even own a phone, but if he did, even he would know that it was bad manners to be ignoring a Prince. Prince Harry looked at him once, and Louis could already tell that he was going home. He looked at Prince Harry in a sort of predatory way as if he had a right to him, as if he had already gotten him, and Prince Harry was clearly already turned off –as he should be.

The rules of his meetings were simple: The Prince could stay speaking to you for as long as he’d like, but for the sake of time no more than five minutes had been suggested. When The Prince had heard enough from you he would leave and you had no right to ask him to stay. Eliminations would begin immediately after Harry had decided who he doesn’t wish to continue in the competition. They said that while waiting they were allowed to talk quietly to each other but they mustn’t interfere with the filming or The Prince’s other conversations. 

Once The Prince had settled into a hostile conversation with Asher, obviously trying to avoid making it obvious who would be leaving them at the end of the afternoon, Zayn leaned over to him and says quietly, “I hear they only have 40 rooms, which means at least six of us are leaving today, if not more” 

Louis smiled at him, motioning his head to Prince Harry’s pathetic attempt to avoid looking genuinely disgusted by what he’s hearing, “it looks like one of six spots is already filled” 

By the time that the two of them looked back up, Harry was back on his feet, running his hands through his hair and chewing on the inside of his cheek as he moved to the next table. This time the boy was Matthew Adams, he was brunet and tall as hell. He looks smart, and he stood up to hug The Prince, which Louis thought the Prince was a little bit confused by, but not entirely disgusted. Louis took the note, that hugging was probably off limits at least for now. 

Zayn laughed at the uncomfortable display in front of them, “I reckon he’s vaguely disinterested in all of us, I mean I wouldn’t be particularly excited about marrying one of a list of men that his parents probably picked out for him.” 

It was true and Louis hadn’t thought about the fact that perhaps The Prince wasn’t excited about the whole ordeal either, especially having grown up with royals his entire life who’s marriages had been decided this way. Louis couldn’t help but think that the royals must not like their partners, because truly, who can fall in love in three months. And Harry was probably dreading having to sort through all forty-eight of them, and find the one who he hated just a little bit to marry. 

So here they were, giddy to be his husband while he was dreading the life that would follow in a loveless marriage. It was sad really. The prospect of falling in love with a Prince had blinded them all to the fact that Harry was also young, and not particularly ready to be married. 

Louis thought his upset would be caught on camera, so he hide it and turned to Zayn to joke again, “but they told me that the Prince had said I was cute!” he pouts over dramatically. 

“Yeah they probably held up the picture and said, ‘look Harry, this is the one from South Yorkshire, don’t you like him?’ and he probably looked up from his phone for a second, and said ‘yeah sure he’s cute’, I doubt he plucked you from the pile and wrote sonnets about you on the spot “ 

Louis wanted to burst out laughing, half at the thought of Harry jumping up from the table as he saw his picture and exclaiming with the voice of a performer, “I have found my husband! And he’s cute!” and half at the idea of him looking like a disinterested teenager and saying, “yeah, whatever, he’s cute I guess”, but he knew that laughing would probably fall under “disturbing The Prince” so instead he put a fake-sour look on his face and stared at Zayn and asked in his very best prissy voice, “oh, so you think that The King and Queen picked you as a potential husband?” 

Zayn smiled at him and opened his mouth to talk again, but then saw that a camera was making its way towards them and stopped, before holding out his hand and smiled sweetly to say, “I’m Zayn, it’s lovely to meet you” 

Zayn was smart, Louis could tell that, and he knew that if the cameras saw them fighting, an entire media circus will flock around them and what would become their “rivalry” over The Prince. Zayn knew that they both didn’t need that, and Louis would thank him for that later. 

They chatted for nearly an hour, watching Harry make the subtlest of faces at men over and over before he got up and whispered each man’s fate into the ear of a woman with a clipboard, who was almost definitely checking off those who were leaving. When Harry reached James Harper, who was number 32, they stopped talking for fear that the cameramen might yell at them. 

Louis looked down at his table as Harry moved over to number 33. The tablecloths were gauzy shrouds waiting to be thrown over every single one of the men today, and as Louis ran it through his fingers he could feel himself being swallowed by it before Harry even arrived. This was it: his chance would be over any moment. 

Louis saw Harry walking over before he could process it. He was tall and slender and the flared bottoms of his pants made it look like he had ginormous feet. No matter how ridiculous he looked, there’s something inarguably alluring about him. Perhaps it was the whisper of auburn facial hair just coming in over his upper lip, or perhaps it was the way his green eyes looked at Louis as if he was looking straight into his mind and reading it like a book. 

Just as he was about the reach the point of impasse, where Louis would have to decide if he is going to get up to greet Harry or not –something he was been contemplating for hours- Louis impulsively jumped from his chair and walked around to shake the Prince’s hand. It seemed awkwardly formal, and felt like exactly what he shouldn’t have done, but Harry smiled when he realizes it wasn’t an attempt for a hug, so Louis relaxed. 

They sat down quietly and then Louis thought it best to introduce himself, seeing as Harry had seen 37 men that day already and would definitely not remember the name of his South Yorkshire selection after all of the information already being shoved into his skull, ‘I’m Louis Tomlinson, South Yorkshire. I’m eighteen and I-“ 

“I know who you are, Louis’ He said, smiling at him like he was staring into him, it was intimidating, but it felt like a challenge. 

“You do?” 

Harry leaned back into his chair, _they were flirting _, Louis thinks. “Of course I do” he said, almost as if it was silly for Louis to have asked him that. He was playing at cool, standoffish, and Louis liked the challenge.__

__“I just figured that you wouldn’t know who all forty-eight of us are,” He said, innocently. He knew what he was doing, of course. He was pushing him to tell him why he knew the name; he was pushing Harry into saying that he was cute. Maybe it was a bad plan, and maybe he would be disqualified on the spot, but Harry seemed to like the challenge just as much as Louis did._ _

__“Oh, I don’t,” he said matter-of-factly, “just the one’s that I picked.” The lady with the clipboard made a sound as if to warn him that he ought to not say things like that on camera, but Harry just looked at her pointedly and said, “you’re going to cut this one out anyways, it doesn’t matter what I say” and suddenly Louis was very worried that he was being sent home. He’d thought that their conversation had been going well, but maybe he had misjudged the situation._ _

__“So you picked me?” Louis asked, “I figured I wasn’t your type, based on the rest of them” he says, motioning to roughly 42 tall jocks sitting at their own tables. He spoke less challengingly now, because he was worried that it might be coming off as predatory._ _

__“Oh yeah, I thought you were cute” Harry said, looking Louis up and down like one might at a club. Louis imagined that they may well have met at a club, where Louis would have been leaning against the bar, Harry might have sidled up next to him and offered to pay for his drink, before the two of them danced under the dark light and heat of fellow bodies pressed to one another. Louis figured that he would have gone home with Harry if he’d met him out in public, but surely that was explicitly against the rules here._ _

__“They told me, that’s why they dressed me like this. It’s really your fault that I look like aggressively-patriotic-Peter-Pan” Louis joked. He felt like he probably shouldn’t blame a Prince for things, but Harry was wearing an equally ridiculous outfit, so he might appreciate the joke._ _

__“They went for a more wholesome definition of cute than I was going for” He smirked. He was looking at Louis’ body more than he is his face, which was slightly upsetting, but also incredibly alluring. It was funny, that talking to the man for not more than five minutes had developed more sexual tension than Harry had produced in all his other conversations combined. It made Louis feel special._ _

__“What?” Louis asked sarcastically, “you don’t like your men dressed like children at birthday parties? I’m surprised.” He pointedly looked Harry up and down as he spoke. It was weird, and he could feel Zayn looking at him like he was crazy, but he was in too deep now to stop._ _

__Harry laughed genuinely, not in the weird flirty way he had been before. “Can’t say I do, but I think I can suffer through it if it means I get to speak with you some more” As Harry said that Louis almost audibly sighed. He was safe, for now._ _

__And he knew he shouldn’t say it, but his mouth beat his mind in the race to his vocal chords and he spoke: “So you’re keeping me then?”_ _

__He could see all the men around him drop their jaws to the floor in disbelief, _had he actually just asked that? _But Harry nodded as if that had been what he’d wanted to hear and smirked just a little bit. “I reckon I will Louis Tomlinson, South Yorkshire, 18” he was mocking Louis, but he can’t find it in him to mind because he kind of wanted Harry to push him up against a wall and have his way with him. Then Harry got up, and stared back at Louis the whole time with narrow eyes, as if he’s imagining the same thing.___ _

____He talked with Zayn for a while, pulling up his suit sleeves to reveal black ink crawling all over, morphing and pulling as he turned his arms. It was ever changing and distracting as hell as Louis tried to get their conversation out if his head. He was analyzing every single one of the looks he got, every one he gave, every word spoken. _Had it been as strange as he’d thought it had been?_ Had he made up the amount of sexual tension that had sat between them on that gauzy shroud yet to bury him? He felt anxiety moving up his throat, bumping into every side of his spine, the very back of his tongue, and opening up his throat as if to make room for the vomit he felt rising. Fuck. He’d just flirted with His Royal Highness Harry Styles in front of 47 of his other suitors. Fuck.____

__***_ _

__It wasn’t until later when they’d been allowed out of the room, except for the men being sent home, seemingly so that Harry could let them down easy, that Zayn looked at Louis with a look of absolute disbelief and asked pointedly, “what the fuck was that, Louis?”_ _  


____Louis shrunk, because truly he had absolutely no idea what he was doing in there, and had no chance of explaining it to Zayn. “I don’t know,” he said dumbly._ _ _ _

____“What do you mean you don’t know?” Zayn almost yelled, “you’re telling me that that just happened without you trying? Because I just met him too and we didn’t eye-fuck each other for ten full minutes followed directly by him being fine with me point-blank asking if he was sending me home!”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t know, it just happened!” Louis protested._ _ _ _

____“I’m surprised you weren’t detained for seducing royalty!” Zayn said, louder now. They were stating to attract attention now from other boys who obviously also heard Louis’ strange conversation. It wasn’t a real argument; Zayn was just in awe of Louis’ forwardness._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t seduce him!” Louis said back, “It wasn’t like I climbed into his lap halfway through and stuck my tongue down his throat!”_ _ _ _

____Zayn laughed, “You may as well have,” he paused then, to think and then laughed again at his own thought, “If he comes to your room tonight, you better tell me”_ _ _ _

____Louis put on his best disciplinary voice, “Excuse me Mr. Malik, are you accusing His Royal Highness Prince Harry of fornication? That is a punishable offense Mr. Malik!”_ _ _ _

____Zayn laughed and pulled Louis by the scruff of his neck back towards the group, where they’re being led towards their rooms, “Come on Louis, let’s go see your Royal Love Den”_ _ _ _

____They get brought down a hallway away from the interview room, and up a flight of stairs to the second floor of the palace. Along the way down the world’s longest, most decadent hallway of gold chandeliers and marble floors, the guard who was leading them pointed out various rooms of varying importance, libraries, music rooms, and every so often he would slip up and point out a servants’ staircase –which Louis took careful note of. Most interestingly, he pointed out the women’s room, which by virtue would be for only women, but because of the unorthodoxy of this Selection, would be where the boys spent most of their days unless otherwise invited into the men’s room._ _ _ _

____When they’d announced that The Selection would be of men, Louis had been confused as to how that would work, and now he realized that the palace didn’t know either. He likes to think that maybe Prince Harry, when presented with the fact that he would have to have a selection had just sprung it on his parents that he’d prefer if he were selecting from a group of boys. Had they worked out how The Prince marrying a man would work with lineage? Like it wasn’t as if Louis was going to pop out a baby any time soon. So, would the crown end once Prince Harry died? Was surrogacy legitimate in royal bloodlines? Had they even sorted those rules out yet?_ _ _ _

____Their rooms were in the west most hallway of the palace, and probably last used when King Desmond was selecting his own wife, judging by the way it looked as if the hall had just been hastily cleaned, and not updated along with the rest of the palace. The walls were a similar orange colour to the interview room, but darker: worn from years of neglect, and the crown moulding, although as show-y and detailed as the rest, had the slightest tinge of yellow. Louis knew what water-damage looked like, but he certainly hadn’t expected to see it in the Royal Palace of England._ _ _ _

____Louis’ room itself was bigger than his entire living room, and seemingly freshly painted a snow white. His bed was a dark wood four-poster piled high with a mattress made of memory-foam and a downy duvet. Most frustratingly, the bed was covered in fluffed up pillows that would have been incredibly enjoyable if it were not for the ridiculous pattern of blue or red stripes across them. _They were even branding his pillows? But what if he hadn’t been chosen?_ _ _ _ _

____He asked as much to one of the maids. She was more of a girl than a woman, and her bright blond hair was braided tightly down her back, revealing a face with cheeks still thick with baby fat and bright, open blue eyes that made her look like a child. She shrugged and told him simply, “We got a call that said put out the striped pillows, so we did. I reckon they were trying to make it feel a bit more homey in here.”_ _ _ _

____Louis could only laugh. They were making it “trendy” not homey; they were staging it for filming. They were staging his bedroom for the chance that there would be a shot taken in there, so that viewers could tune in, see the pillows and say “oh, I know which one that boy is”. Was anything in this game not pre-setup? Had they already picked a winner?____

___***_ _ _

___It’s happened much later that night, after they’d fed him a steak so juicy and fatty that it seemed to melt in his mouth, and a glass of wine that Louis was positive was expensive but had no way of being able to tell. He was standing out on his balcony, looking out the front of the palace into the lights of London nightlife. If he listened hard enough he could hear people in the streets, chatting and singing and dancing._ _ _  
  


____And as he looked out, suddenly there was a flash in front of his eyes. At first he thought it was a flash from the streets ahead of him, an open sign flickering on, or a match being lit, but it seemed too close. Instinctively, Louis reaches out to catch it. And when the flash landed in his open palm, it was not a flash at all, but rather a black IPhone, catching the light of the moon as it fell from the balcony above Louis._ _ _ _

____“Shit!” he heard from the same balcony, and he looked up, leaning over the railing of his balcony to see who had just dropped their phone, only to find Prince Harry practically hanging over the railing. For a second Louis feared that he might be the cause of The Crown Prince of England falling to his death…perhaps his phone would take the blame for that. “Oh thank the lord!” Harry exclaimed when he saw Louis’s outstretched hand holding his phone._ _ _ _

____For a second Louis thought of what to do with it. He couldn’t possibly throw it back up to Harry, not at that angle. He’d just ensure that his phone fell harder onto the stone under them. He wasn’t even sure if he was allowed to leave his room. “I’ll, um…” he said, before he’d actually constructed a plan, “I’ll give it to a guard to bring it back up to you” he yelled up to the Prince._ _ _ _

____Prince Harry made a sour face. He just shook his head and told Louis in an exasperated voice, “they’ll take a full hour and launch a full scale investigation if you do that,” Louis thought that he must have been exaggerating about the investigation at the very least, he hoped, “I’ll come get it myself, I’ll be there in a second” Harry said as he pushed himself back from the railing and probably through his room towards the stairs._ _ _ _

____There was a knock on his door within seconds, which made Louis think that the Prince must have run from his room. The image of a twenty-one year old Prince running down the halls of the palace, past guards and servants, kind of made Louis want to laugh. The Prince had taken off his ridiculous suit, and was wearing a rather normal set of plaid pyjama pants and a black t-shirt._ _ _ _

____Louis saw his tattoos up close for the first time, and they were fascinating. He’d seen his fair share of tattoos; it wasn’t like they were exactly rare where he’s from, but there was something special about seeing them on the Prince of England. Maybe it was that he was royalty, and tattoos were normally exclusive to the lower classes, but maybe it was the dark ink enriching his skin, along his biceps and wrists and -because his pants were just a little bit too short- his ankles, too. There was something so enticing about them, and he can’t put his finger on what it was, but he kind of wanted to put his mouth on them. There was a big rose right at the inside of his elbow, and a ship at the top of his bicep, and a mermaid along the back of his forearm, and an anchor at his wrist. On the inside he could see three nails and an anatomically correct heart. He couldn’t see the back of his arm as he closed the door behind him, but he could see just the edges of more ink stacked all the way up._ _ _ _

____Then he realized that he was staring, and looked quickly back up to Harry’s eyes as he held the unharmed phone out for him to take. Harry sighed, “You’re a lifesaver. I would have been so fucked if I had dropped that”_ _ _ _

____Louis tried to be funny, but he was tired and a little bit flustered, “Maybe you should put a case on it” he smiled, hoping to get a laugh, but instead the Prince just shook his head._ _ _ _

____“What can I do to repay you?” Harry asked as he stuck the phone into the wide-open pocket of his pant leg._ _ _ _

____Louis wanted to make a joke, and say, “ _are you offering me sexual favours, Prince Harry?_ ” with the sort of smirk that would insinuate that he really wouldn’t mind, but he felt that that probably wasn’t an appropriate thing to say to the Crown Prince, especially after what had happened earlier that day already. _ _ _ _

____So he went with being honest about what he wanted, because he was lonely, and not used to falling asleep without people around him. That was why he’d been out on the balcony in the first place: because it had been too quiet and he was starting to get into his own head about it all. “You could sit with me for a little bit. I can’t get to sleep”_ _ _ _

____ _ _

____And so Harry did. He sat across from Louis’ bed in an armchair made of cotton as white as paper and they talked. Louis asked about his tattoos, and Harry pointed out the interesting ones to him._ _ _ _

____He talked all about the anchor on his wrist: a reference to his love of sailing. He went on and on about his boat, which was sitting an English Naval marina out by the coast. When Louis asked if the ship inked into his bicep was the boat he was talking about he laughed, and Louis felt stupid because it obviously wasn’t: it was a seventeenth century naval ship, not the two bedroom yacht that Harry was describing to him. He just wanted to start a conversation with him, and more importantly he wanted Harry to like him._ _ _ _

____On the back of his arm, bracketing his elbow, there’s a hastily written silver spoon which Harry explained to him by looking fondly behind himself at it and saying “that one’s self explanatory isn’t it?” and it goes hand in hand with the bird cage on his side. Harry pulled up his shirt for Louis to see, and he got a glimpse at Harry’s toned abdominals and back rippling as he moves. “I’m a caged bird, born with a silver spoon in its mouth. I’ve got everything I want, right?” he laughed bitterly, “I should be overjoyed”_ _ _ _

____“What’s it like?” Louis asks, “being a Prince, I mean”_ _ _ _

____“Boring.” Harry sighed, “And they never leave me alone. Like never. When I was sixteen and desperate to have the maids and nurses and advisors gone for even a moment, I’d overflow the bathtub and jump out the bathroom window, it was stupid and only worked once or twice, but they got so worried about it that they permanently sealed that window. That’s when I got the tattoo: when I’d been caged into my own home” he paused there for a moment to look at Louis, and then continued, “I got the silver spoon one later, when I talked to one of my maids about how much I hated it here, and all she said was that I should be grateful for being born with a silver spoon in my mouth. You probably think the same thing, I mean I’m a prince and I’ve barely met you and I’m already unloading all of my crap on you”_ _ _ _

____There was a pause between them, then. Louis tried to think of what to tell him, what did he say to the boy who had everything, but has spent 23 years of his life as a prisoner among all the luxury._ _ _ _

____“I don’t,” he said, finally._ _ _ _

____Harry looked up to him, and with a look of confusion he asked quietly, “what?”_ _ _ _

____“I don’t think you should be happy with it all. I mean, you said so yourself, you only picked some of the guys who are here as options to marry. What guy would be happy with having twelve weeks to find the love of his life?”_ _ _ _

____“At least I get to pick from guys,” Harry said, quietly again._ _ _ _

____“You don’t have to be grateful for this,” Louis told him, “I mean, it’s archaic, isn’t it?”_ _ _ _

____“It is a bit, yeah.” Harry conceded, “but I always knew I’d have a selection, and at least I get to pick. I mean, they could have decided for me and just sent some princess to marry”_ _ _ _

____“Still, it sucks whatever way you frame it” Louis countered._ _ _ _

____Harry just nodded over and over for a moment, as if he couldn’t agree more. “Enough about my life, what of yours?” he said in a suddenly formal voice. It was disconcerting and a little bit scary how fast he could turn it on._ _ _ _

____“Well I’m from Doncaster, the bad half –although there aren’t many good parts if I’m honest” Louis paused to laugh there, desperate to bring up the mood in the room, “I’ve got five sisters and a brother, all younger. And I was a waiter until this morning”_ _ _ _

____Harry looked up at him, bored, “I know all of that, Louis, I read your application. Tell me something interesting”_ _ _ _

____“Well, what do you want to know?”_ _ _ _

____“Did you have a boyfriend back home? Girlfriend?” Harry asked, tacking on the last part, as if suddenly worried that Louis might be straight. Although, _really_ , the chance of Louis being straight seemed pretty slim. _ _ _ _

____“No boyfriend. Never had one actually. My dad only found out I was gay when I was selected” At least, Louis thought his father knew by then. It was hard to know seeing as he hadn’t been home in a week._ _ _ _

____And then Harry asked what was possibly the strangest question Louis had ever heard, “did you?”_ _ _ _

____“Know I was gay?” Louis confirmed, “yeah, I mean, I knew by year seven, and I’m pretty sure that everyone else did too” he laughs at that, remembering the years of looking at magazines of scantily clad women and pretending that he wasn’t slightly repulsed by them. He also remembered painful school dances where he’d have to ask Eleanor Calder to dance when really he wanted to be asking that pretty senior from the baseball team._ _ _ _

____“I didn’t” Harry said quiet frankly, “not until probably six months ago” he was twiddling his thumbs and incredibly interested in them as he avoided Louis’ eye contact, embarrassed._ _ _ _

____“How’d you find out?”_ _ _ _

____“There was a guard here, who used to work on my detail, and I thought that I was just appreciating his attractiveness, which sounds absolutely ridiculous now that I’m saying it out loud, but being gay just wasn’t really an option, so I just didn’t think about it,” he sighs then, as if digging up all of the shitty memories of the ordeal. “I didn’t really think about it until he kissed me, and then I started kissing him, and then my dad found out”_ _ _ _

____Louis was waiting for a horror story. One of hitting and fear and general badness, but instead Harry started to smile just a little bit. “Obviously he doesn’t work on my detail anymore, but my parents were pretty okay with it. I think they knew before I did. And they reorganized my whole Selection. I think they wanted me to find real love, because it’s pretty obvious that they don’t love each other”_ _ _ _

____It was a sad image he painted. Of love never found, and a house devoid of emotion. Where the corners collected dust, and the ceilings browned with water damage. Such a massive building with no life in it. Just people skirting around each other, tolerating the other._ _ _ _

____‘Did you love him?” Louis asked out of the silence of the moment._ _ _ _

____“No, I don’t think so. I think I loved that he was male, and smelled like a boy and didn’t have boobs, but I didn’t love _him_.” _ _ _ _

____“Do you think you’ll fall in love with any of us?” Louis asked again, and he didn’t know what he was looking for, because he had known Harry for all of twelve hours and it wasn’t as if he loved him._ _ _ _

____Harry smiled straight into Louis’ eyes, as if to tell him something he couldn’t quite understand yet, “I like to hope so. If you all are open to me, I’m open to you”_ _ _ _

____And he says you in a very personal way, as if he doesn’t mean the collective you, but rather something different._ _ _ _


	3. Week 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to play a fun game where we pretend that it hasn't been two months since I updated this.

Breakfast at the palace was quite possibly the best experience of Louis’ life. Never had he seen so many delicious things in such close proximity to each other at one time until that first morning.

 

From the moment he was seated, servers in white gloves and ridiculous outfits were presenting him with delicacies of all sorts, as if he had done anything to earn them. First eggs made in ways Louis hadn’t even known existed, next Belgian waffles and pancakes with real maple syrup –the sort that came in a glass bottle shaped like a leaf. When Louis thought he had been spoiled enough, in came the juices. Orange, apple, pineapple, grapefruit, even passion fruit juices came in procession carried in silver jugs. Louis could barely decide which one he wanted, until he decided it best to rotate between them throughout his week so as to try each before he went home.

 

Soon enough, Louis’ plate was piled high with pancakes and doughnuts along with rashers of bacon and so sort of pastry Louis couldn’t name. He drank from a glass of pineapple juice set beside two different kinds of tea and a cup of coffee that Louis had gotten purely because it was on offer. He’d gorged himself on the deliciousness like an animal, while all the men beside him kept their composure.

 

Even Zayn, who had known his own hardship, only took small bites at a time of his own overfilled plate. He smiled nicely at the other boys as they engaged in mostly stunted conversation, and kept up some appearance of civility amongst the upperclassmen surrounding him.

 

To Louis’ left sat Niall Horan, South London. He had single-handedly eaten an entire tray of doughnuts as subtly as possible, just from motioning to the server carrying them each time they made eye contact. Louis had decided he was a prick. Perhaps it was his collection of cable-knit sweaters that bothered him, or more likely his suede boots. Louis stood by his belief that suede boots were both uncomfortable, expensive and impractical, which meant the owner of such a shoe would have to be all: showy, rich and the sort who had never worked a day in their life. Louis liked to think that Niall Horan, South London sat in his city mansion all day eating cheese puffs (the expensive, artisanal kind, not the store brand) and kept his suede boots out of any dirt or water.

 

If Louis had also eaten more than his share of doughnuts, he wouldn’t say.

 

Instead he buried his face back into his plate, which was then full of chocolate covered strawberries with all sorts of topping on top of them, as if chocolate strawberries weren’t posh enough.

 

As Louis shoved a white chocolate covered strawberry topped with Oreo bits into his mouth, the heavy doors of the dining room were thrust open to reveal His Royal Highness Prince Harry in all his glory. That day he had decided against dress pants, rather favouring a pair of dark was jeans and a dark blazer. Most ridiculously, he wore a shirt resembling an inkblot test, or perhaps a rather unfortunate stain he was trying to play off as intentional.

 

“Good morning!” he exclaimed with forced delight. His smile was genuine enough, but something in his voice gave him away. One of the advisors who had entered with him shot the Prince a look. “I’m so glad to have all 37 of you with me for the rest of the week, I look forward to getting to know each of you.”

 

The day before was a bloodbath of sorts. Nine selected boys hadn’t even made it to dinner, but Louis hadn’t realized how large of a cut Prince Harry had made until it was announced. It seemed that he didn’t intend to waste anyone’s time by keeping them any longer than their stay. Louis just hoped he made it to the end of the week.

 

“For our first morning together,” the Prince continued, “I invite you all out to the gardens. We’ll have a game of football, then enjoy a picnic lunch in the rose garden.” His words were clearly scripted for the cameras and audience at home, and if Louis hadn’t been in the room he would have been sure someone was holding cue cards for him to read. The Prince may have been unnaturally attractive, but he couldn’t act for shit.

 

Then the cameras stopped whirring and the Prince was gone as fast as he’d come. A woman with a clipboard informed the table that they should finish their breakfasts before going back to their rooms to change into athletic clothing before reconvening in the gardens at 10. Louis couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t tell them where the gardens were. Perhaps that was part of the plot. _Louis Tomlinson, South Yorkshire is LATE to first official day in palace. Read more on page 5._

Louis finished his last strawberry –a milk chocolate with some sort of raspberry icing on top- and then grabbed a simple one for the road. He was fairly sure that was bad form, but he wasn’t one to deprive himself of the few niceties at his disposal.

 

By then most of the other boys were already long gone, leaving Louis to find his way back to his bedroom all alone. Louis wondered if –in the strange utopia where he won- he could suggest maps be installed on every hallway. Louis was forced to wander down a hallway that looked vaguely familiar.

 

Checking the fancy golden watch he had been given to wear that morning, he had roughly 40 minutes to get back to his room, get dressed, and find his way to the gardens –wherever the hell they were.

 

Just before he looked back up again to try and find some landmark to guide him back to his bedroom, an arm grabbed his and pulled him off into an alcove.

 

“Holy sh-!” Louis nearly yelled before looking up to see Prince Harry with his finger tucked against his lips. Louis’ face switched from a look ready to kill to one of major confusion. He could feel his eyebrows furrow down over his eyelids. He wasn’t even sure what to say to a Prince when he pulls you into an alcove.

 

“Sorry to do this so unusually, but I didn’t want the cameras to catch it,” Prince Harry began. He then reached inside his jacket to produce a medium sized velvet box. “It’s, uh, just to say thank you for last night. For –catching my phone.” He spoke his last sentence as if it were meant to end differently, then he presented the box to Louis. “I hope you like it. I hope it isn’t too feminine too.”

 

“Thank you,” Louis said genuinely. He didn’t receive too many gifts at home, what with being the eldest and the lack of money to start with. It wasn’t as if he got nothing, but things in velvet boxes were normally jewellery, and Louis hadn’t ever gotten jewellery.

 

He made a move to open the box, but the Prince’s hand was immediately blanketing his own, stopping him from seeing inside. “Don’t open it yet, wait until you’re back to your room.” Louis took a moment to bask in the contact with the Prince. He couldn’t help but feel awfully special to have earned the Prince’s touch less than 24 hours into the selection.

 

Louis nodded thankfully again, and just before he was about to leave and wander around the floor some more, he realized that he had perhaps the foremost expert on the palace at his disposal, “you don’t happen to know how I can get back to my room, do you?” he asked as causally as he could.

 

Harry’s eyes lit up, flashing his canines in a smile, “I’ll walk you.”

 

Louis suddenly couldn’t think straight. It seemed very unprincely to walk a boy back to his room, especially because cameras would surely be roaming the “I-“ Louis didn’t quite know how one was meant to turn down a Prince’s offer, “I appreciate your offer, Your Highness, but the cameras-“

 

Prince Harry’s hand shot up to the back of his neck and his face screwed into something uncomfortable, “Just Harry please,” he requested as if the sound of “your highness” made him feel physically sick.

 

“Harry then,” Louis corrected and something seemed to stir in his stomach. It felt inexplicably intimate to call the Prince by his first name, “I’m just sure that the cameras will be roaming the hall.”

 

Harry looked at him with a face full of confusion, “you’ve got to get your name out somehow, haven’t you?”

 

Louis had never thought about the fact that he would have to be seen by the cameras. In fact, he had resolved himself to fly under the radar as much as possible. He had even entertained the idea of going unnoticed by the Prince, so as the stay for another week by pure accident. Louis guessed it might have been too late for that.

 

Perhaps the Prince was right. Louis did need to get himself out there as something other than the boy who wore suspenders on the very first day. And if he had captured the attention of the Prince, even if it was only by rescuing his phone from a rather unfortunate fate, he ought to capitalize on it. “In that case sure,” he began again, “I’d love to have you walk me.”

 

And so Harry did, leading him down a twisting hallway that he swore would be a shortcut. Despite the fact that Harry had grown up in the palace, its vastness seemed to escape even him when they would reach the ends of halls and he would be forced to search out a painting or other landmark to remind himself of the right way to go.

 

When they finally reached the familiarly forgotten hallway in the West wing, Louis’ fancy watch read 9:47am leaving him just enough time to get dressed. Just as he expected, the hall was absolutely teaming with cameramen, chatting with each other or other participants, dressed in athletic outfits in varying degrees of style. For a group of gay men, these were not the most fashion forward.

 

By counting the doors in from the hall, Louis figured out which was likely to be his and then turned towards the Prince. As he did so, he could see the cameras all turn from their interviews to train their film on Louis’ interaction. He decided it best to carefully tailor his words, so as not to draw more attention to himself than needed. “Thanks for helping me find my way. I don’t think I would have found it otherwise.” He made sure to leave the gift out of his thanks. The last thing he wanted was for there to be a sudden uproar over his new jewellery.

 

Harry nodded, and looked as if he might say something back or linger a moment more but seemed to resolve it best to leave Louis to get ready. Something in Louis wanted to grab his wrist as he left, but he knew that would cause quite a stir.

 

Instead, Louis closed the door behind him and stared into his perfect room. It had been clean in the time he was at breakfast, with his pyjamas from the day before folded neatly on the bench by his bed and his bed sheets made up perfectly. Louis couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable at the prospect of a perfect stranger touching his things.

 

9:50am. Louis quickly dropped his khakis and button up shirt in favour of the outfit set out for him on his bed. The rebellious streak in Louis was awfully tempted to find his own outfit in the closet just to spite whoever had set the original one out, but Louis couldn’t help but be tempted to put on the pair of Adidas track pants and drop sleeved vest top set out for him. It seemed that whoever had decided on that outfit had not subscribed to the “Gay Peter Pan” vibe the others had been so adamant about. He made a mental note to thank whoever it was.

 

9:55. Louis scrambled to run a brush through his hair and tousle it a little bit so that it didn’t look so put together. He didn’t want people to be able to point out the difference in his looks once he was sweaty from football.

 

9:57. Louis finally got a chance to dig the box out of his khakis’ pocket. It was red velvet and weighed enough for Louis to know that it wasn’t empty, but not enough for Louis to know what it encased. Carefully, he pulled the magnetic sides apart to reveal a solid gold bangle. Louis nearly choked on his own spit. There, printed in cursive gold lettering along the top of the box was _Cartier_. Louis didn’t know all that much about jewellery, but he did know that no one got out of that store without dropping at least 1000 pounds. _Louis caught his phone, and he bought him a Cartier bracelet as a thank you. The Prince could have bought a new phone for less!_

 

9:59. Louis carefully screwed the bracelet onto his wrist and made his way out the door. He had only a minute to find the gardens before his headline nightmare would come true.

 

Just as he closed his door, another shut just to his left and Niall “Prick” Horan, South London was standing in the hallway looking just as distressed as he was. “You haven’t any idea how to get to the gardens do you?” he asked in an accent decidedly not from London. He was wearing a national team jersey from a few years before and a pair of basketball shorts, adding one more tally on Louis’ “Badly Dressed Gay Men” count. Louis just shook his head in response. “We’d better get looking quick, shouldn’t we,” Niall smiled and motioned for Louis to follow him.

 

Louis shrugged and followed along.

 

***

 

After a few wrong turns and a lot of light jogging, the two of them found their way into the gardens just in time to catch the team picking for the first match.

 

It was Prince Harry –just Harry- versus some boy who Louis was fairly sure was named something like John or Jon or Jonathan. They were picking teams like it was school all over again and Louis couldn’t help but be nervous to be picked last.

 

He wasn’t in the end. Jon or John picked him around the middle and he happily joined his team. Louis had played enough football in school and at home with his friends to fancy himself quite a good midfielder, but didn’t dare say that for the cameras to hear him brag. Instead he settled himself into his position and prepared to play a nice friendly match.

 

The Prince was god-awful. And while no one would dare pick him anything but first, he was easily the worst player on the field each match. He didn’t seem bothered by this fact, despite that fact that he seemed achingly aware of it each time he apologized for missing the ball or kicking it in the wrong direction with his toe. Then, like clockwork, one of the boys absolutely desperate for the Prince’s attention would blow smoke up his arse like nothing Louis had ever seen.

 

_You’re just so naturally talented, Your Highness._

_Where did you learn to play so well, Your Highness?_

_I never would have guessed that a Prince would be so great at football, Your Highness!_

Each time one of them spoke, Louis caught Zayn’s eye from across the pitch with eyebrows raised and a smile creeping across his lips. Zayn seemed to find it equally funny, as did Liam Payne, West Midlands who had stuck himself to Zayn early in the game.

 

Louis couldn’t help but notice that Harry didn’t correct any of them to call him just Harry. His fingers would automatically snap to his bangle whenever he thought about that fact.

 

They played three or four matches, until every boy was breathing heavy air and lungs were forced open to catch lost breath. Louis could feel his hair plastered to his forehead and cringed at the thought of how he must look. He wiped off his hands on his brand new pants and ran a couple of fingers through the mess on his head to try and calm it down just a little bit.

 

“Wonderful game, yeah?” a boy to Louis left offered with a smile that didn’t quite seem right. Perhaps he was just tired. He was easily half a foot taller than Louis, with hair curling down his forehead and bright eyes. _Miles Seaman_ , Louis recognized from his photo and some vague connection between his blue eyes and the fact that his name insinuated that he should be a fisherman.

 

“Yeah,” Louis smiled as best as he could. Something about the guy set him off a little bit.

 

“That’s a nice piece of gold you’ve got there,” he motioned down to the bracelet Louis had nearly forgotten about. It was more than just a statement, maybe a challenge.

 

“Oh, thanks,” Louis offered, voice rising as he tried to stay as sweet as possible. He couldn’t help but look at the bangle as well, shaking it around his wrist.

 

‘Where’d you get it?” Miles asked. Louis was beginning to feel like the conversation was more of an interrogation than a friendly interaction.

 

“Oh, uh,” Louis wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Miles where he got it, “The, uh, Prince gave it to me. It’s a long story, but it was a thank you, for catching his phone.”

 

Miles smiled in a way that made Louis’ stomach feel a little off. “That’s an expensive gift for catching someone’s phone.”

 

Louis wasn’t a total idiot, or at least he didn’t think himself to be. He also wasn’t the type of person to sleep with someone on the first night of a competition for his hand in marriage. And most importantly he wasn’t the type of person to accept monetary rewards for sex. “I guess that when you’re royalty, money isn’t like it is for us common folk,” Louis offered with a smile.

‘I guess you’ve been spending a lot of time alone with the Prince then,” Mason offered, seemingly offhandedly but sounding more and more like a challenge with each passing minute.

 

“Only briefly,” Louis responded a little too fast for his own taste.

 

“I heard that he walked you back to your room this morning,” Mason continued to press, and Louis was now positive that he was being interrogated.

 

“I got lost,” Louis spit out as soon a Mason had finished.

 

Mason shrugged with a face similar to one of sucking on a lemon, “I guess that I’ve got the first official date then,” he finished his brag with yet another shrug.

 

Louis despised people like that with a burning passion. Those who lived to tell their accomplishments to others set his teeth on edge. “That’s nice,” he smiled through his disgust, “I hope you have a nice time.”

 

Mason only nodded, seemingly hoping for a full out catfight over the Prince one day into the competition, but left Louis alone all the same.

 

Zayn sidled up next to him with a towel running over his hair, hoping to get some of the sweat out of his normally perfect quiff. “What was that about?”

 

Louis shrugged, “some competitive prick who got the first date and thinks he’s hot shit because of it.”

 

Zayn laughed, “speaking of hot shit, I don’t seem to remember you owning a 4000 pound Cartier bracelet this morning.”

 

Louis nearly choked on his own spit for the second time that morning. _4000 pounds!_ Louis’ hand suddenly shot around the bracelet as if someone were trying to steal it from him. _Because he certainly wasn’t going to give up 4000 pounds of solid gold that easily._ He almost wanted to take it off and hide it under his bed until he left just to keep what probably amounted to all of his assets safe as possible. “It was a gift, from the Prince.” Zayn’s eyebrows shot to his hairline, and from the smirk on his face Louis could tell he was thinking the same thing as Mason had. “Oh please,” Louis scoffed, hitting Zayn’s arm lightly –because they weren’t good enough friends to be touching- “he dropped his phone off his balcony and my room is under his so I caught it. Then he came to my room to get it and we chatted for a little bit. It was entirely innocent.”

 

Zayn hit him back, a little bit harder, “You promised that you’d tell me if he came to your room!”

 

“Well it wasn’t like _that”_ Louis defended, “it was only fifteen minutes or so, really.”

 

Zayn only shook his head as if to say that he couldn’t believe Louis. “He’s so gone for you.”

 

“His Royal Highness Prince Harry is not _gone_ for me,” Louis assured him, “in fact he must be more gone for Miles Seaman who has gotten the first official date.’ Only then did Louis notice that Liam Payne, West Midlands had been following the two of them on their walk towards to rose garden. All the boys were heading in that direction, so Louis might have discredited it as him only following the crowd if it hadn’t been for him walking right beside Zayn. “Who’s this?” he asked, despite the fact that he knew full well that it was Liam Payne, West Midlands, footballer haired, firefighter.

 

“Oh, uh, this is Liam,” Zayn stuttered out as if he hadn’t counted on Louis noticing his new friend, “his room is next to mine, so we’ve gotten to know each other.” Louis could tell that something was off in the way he spoke about Liam. Perhaps it was that he refused to make eye contact with the boy despite the fact that they were right beside each other. Louis couldn’t help but entertain the idea that Zayn didn’t really like Liam’s company.

 

Liam didn’t say anything, but smiled nicely across Zayn. Louis remembered that he had once thought Liam was an oversized, over muscular teddy bear and he decided that was a very good descriptor for Liam Payne who looked almost like a little boy trapped in an absolutely ripped body.

 

Louis had seen how unaware he was of his own strength when he kicked the football about 10 metres further than he had expected to and then apologized profusely to his entire team. He also stuck to Zayn’s side like a leech, but Louis couldn’t find it in himself to be upset at him because he felt bad for the boy to a certain extent. Something felt wrong about feeling sorry for Liam “Friendly Giant” Payne, because Louis knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he could snap Louis in two if he wanted to.

 

***

Tuesday was spent in the women’s room enjoying tea cakes at all times of the day and little glasses of champagne. Louis very much enjoyed the alcohol, especially when other boys started to play absolutely terrible piano in an attempt to impress the cameras with some sort of talent they did not actually possess.

 

Louis spent the day snacking on macarons and sipping champagne from a flute made of glass so thin he was sure he would break it and cause a scene each time he took it off the beautiful table placed next to his armchair.

 

He read bits and pieces from the massive library lining the back of the room. Some of the books were absolutely awful, and long dead members of the royal family detailing their escapades through Europe as young men wrote those more often than not. Louis skipped the more detailed descriptors of their sexual exploits.

 

He resolved to only read ten or so pages of each so as to read as much of the vast collection as possible. He made a note of his favourites on fancy palace stationary so that he could remember which ones to pick up at the library when he returned home. Louis had always loved to read, but never had he seen such a wonderful collection of books completely at his disposal.

 

When the terrible noise became to much to read in, he would often find a spot in the sofas and armchairs surrounding the large fireplace and chat with the other boys about anything and everything coming to mind. At the beginning, it was awfully hard to strike up a conversation with any of them, but Zayn –as interesting as he was- managed to capture the attention of every boy who sat in his presence the second that he pulled up the sleeves of his button down and started talking about his tattoo shop. A few boys even asked if he had brought his equipment to the palace so that he could do little things on them, to which he replied that he had brought a few machines but wasn’t going to tattoo any regrettable things on teenage boys in the high-adrenaline environment of a competition. Louis agreed with his ideals, but couldn’t help but hope that Zayn wouldn’t mind putting a little something on him in secret if he asked –and he planned to.

 

A boy named Edward insisted on showing Zayn his own ink, most of which was absolutely terribly drawn and he claimed to have gotten them from friends. Zayn offered to touch up a couple of the absolutely dreadful ones, but Ed only shook his head and smiled, assuring Zayn that he was perfectly happy with their ghastly application.

 

By evening Louis had seen the tattoos of nearly every man in the room, including Miles Seaman, who –in between telling them all about his preparation for his date- had showed them all a fairly beautiful black and grey forest silhouette on his upper bicep and thusly caused Louis to hate him a little bit more. Perhaps if he had a terrible, ugly tattoo Louis would be able to feel sorry for him and less threatened, but instead he had something that Louis would have loved to get if he hadn’t seen it on Miles’ stupid bicep.

 

***

 

Wednesday was spent similarly to Tuesday, except that Louis suffered through a full hour of Miles Seaman’s date recounting. Louis was beginning to call him Miles Semen in his private thoughts just for the fun of it.

 

By 10:30am Louis was about ready to explode if he heard about how “absolutely romantic” their walk through the rose gardens at twilight had been and how Miles was “absolutely positive” that he would have been kissed if kisses were to be allowed that early in the game. Louis was also ready to scream that there were no rules stipulating when the Prince was allowed to make romantic advances so it was more than plausible that the Prince had simply not wanted to kiss him. God, he wanted Miles to get over himself.

 

That afternoon they were taken on a tour of the city, despite the fact that nearly all of them had been to London before. The Prince didn’t join them either, so it was even more boring than Louis had originally thought it would be.

 

They also looked an awful lot like a terrible tour group –one of Louis’ biggest pet peeves. The cameras and security quickly drew a crowd, and not five feet into the general vicinity of Piccadilly Circus and they were already swamped by hoards of passionate citizens, all screaming for their favourite to win.

 

The boys from London itself were the most popular by far, and Niall Horan –who by this time Louis had decided was not anywhere near as awful as some of the other boys and so had accepted him as something of a friend- couldn’t help but laugh when girls promised him the crown.

 

John Manson however, who was the selected from North London, seemed to bask in the glory of popularity a little too much for Louis’ tastes. He seemed to live for the envy and unbridled passion of his followers. Louis kind of –wickedly- hoped that he would be sent home during the first week so that he couldn’t gain enough of a following to have actual fans.

 

Somewhere deep down, Louis wondered if he too had followers. Maybe they were just back home, or maybe he just hadn’t heard them in all the commotion, or –most upsettingly- maybe they simply didn’t exist. They had taken Louis’ interview out of the first aired special on Monday night, so it was possible that people simply didn’t know that he existed, but he hoped that he had at least made some sort of impression.

 

***

 

As Friday drew nearer and nearer, Louis began to feel more secure in his place at the palace. Mostly because other men had been worse than himself. Even if he at them out of house and home (if royals had to worry about grocery bills) every breakfast and was often late to set meeting times. In the three days he had been at the palace, Louis had seen men fight with each other, and yell at cameras to leave them alone. It was like a terrible reality show. Although, if this wasn’t a bad reality show, what was it? At least he hadn’t been the cause of any irreparable damage to the property or any other member of the competition. He figured that Week 1 would be entirely about weeding out the crazy ones, and possibly the boring ones. Louis figured that Harry had made a 4000-pound investment in him continuing onto the next week.

 

All that was left was to survive the group dates of Thursday evening. With 37 of them left, the Prince (or rather his advisors) had organized four group dates to take place on Thursday night. Because of the nature of having four dates with thirty-seven men in one night, they had each gotten one part of a singular date. Some would be going for tea with the Prince in the afternoon, followed by others joining the Prince for a movie in the palace’s theatre, then more would join him for dinner, until finally the last group would go dancing with him in a club rented out just for them.

 

Louis had been selected for the fourth and final date, which meant he had to go dancing with Harry in an otherwise empty club. Most unfortunately, Miles Seaman had been put in his group as well. Louis could already see Miles trying to grind up on Harry in the dark of the club. He’d probably brag about it for weeks afterwards as well. Louis could already bet that he’d give the Daily Mail an exclusive, _My Debaucherous Night with Prince Harry!_

Luckily, he had also been put with Zayn (and Liam because they seemed to only come as a box set) so the night wouldn’t be a complete failure. Plus, his spot was already guaranteed as long as he didn’t offend Harry terribly within the next 24 hours.

 

He and Zayn had decided to get ready together, as they’d been told that they would have to decide on their own outfits in an effort for them to display their own personalities. Louis was torn between dressing as he normally would for a club and dressing more formally for the presence of the Prince.

 

On his bed he had set out one outfit which he expected to be approved by the royal family, and one that he expected to be approved by a twenty-one year old boy in a club (quite possibly named Harry).

 

Zayn burst through his door with a pile of his own clothes –or the clothes he had been given for the competition, rather- and a little bit out of breath. “I had to run through the camera barricade, they’re waiting for the dinner date to come back hoping to get interviews from them,” he huffed out, “anyways, Liam says he’s just wearing a t-shirt, so we won’t be the only underdressed ones if everyone else wears suits.”

 

Zayn seemed to mention Liam in every single sentence he spoke. The two of them sounded like they should be the very best of friends but Zayn still refused to even look at him whenever they were together. Zayn seemed like he liked Liam well enough, making it increasingly confusing as to why he didn’t interact with him in public.

 

“So button downs are a no,” Louis confirmed and Zayn nodded in agreement. “How do you feel about this?” Louis asked, holding up a half transparent black t-shirt.

 

Zayn let out a laugh, “are you trying to go home with the Prince during Week 1?”

 

Louis laughed too but shrugged sarcastically, “the goal is to go home with the Prince permanently, isn’t it?”

 

“Or,” Zayn started, “is the goal to size up Miles Seaman?”

 

Zayn knew full well that Louis’ goal was constantly to size up Miles Semen. That boy rubbed him in every wrong way there was, and he wanted him out sight and out of mind as quickly as possible (might he suggest Friday night at the first elimination?).

 

“I just want to look good tonight, no sin in that.” With that Louis shucked off his t-shirt and pulled the black one over his head. With his sweatpants on, he looked an awful lot like he was about to go to bed, but he remedied said situation by switching into a pair of skin-tight black jeans.

 

He and Zayn looked at themselves in Louis’ massive mirror for a while, playing with their shirts and hair until they were both completely happy with how they looked. It felt an awful lot like getting ready for any other night out with his friends, except that he was going to a club with a total of nine people to dance with, and the goal of the night was to impress a Prince into marrying him.

 

A knock on the door shook them from their prepping haze. Zayn, who was closest to the door revealed Liam as he leaned into the room. “We’re going to the cars now,” he told them before racking his eyes up and down Zayn and Louis. “You look good,” he said and Louis had a feeling it was not the collective you.

 

***

The club was equally dark and stuffy as clubs were at home, but there was a distinct lack of bouncer looking Louis and his friends up and down as if to ask if they really wanted to be there. Instead, a man in a suit in his sixties greeted them all with a smile and a handshake to welcome them into his club. Louis wondered if that was Harry’s experience every time he went out, and he couldn’t help but think that he’d quite enjoy that sort of treatment permanently.

 

When their car arrived, the Prince had yet to show up meaning that they were instead left to loiter around the empty space enjoying the open bar and avoiding too much eye contact with each other.

 

Louis couldn’t imagine how the night was meant to go if they were to be the only ones at the club. Would they all sit at the bar waiting for their turn to dance with the Prince? That didn’t seem like much of a night out in Louis’ taste.

 

“I reckon it’ll be an early night, yeah?” Edward with the bad tattoos said as he slid into the seat next to Louis with a glass of something caramel coloured and smelling of pure alcohol. Louis on the other hand, had decided on a much more sugary drink (although he asked specifically for the little umbrella to be removed).

 

“Reckon it’ll be a weird one, watching everyone dance with the same guy,” Louis offered in return, taking a sip of his own drink. He needed to tread lightly on the alcohol that night, for nothing would make better episode content than one of the boys getting fabulously drunk before the Prince even arrived, and Louis had resolved not to be one of them.

 

The Prince arrived in the club at exactly half past ten, and much to Louis’ both surprise and relief, he did not come alone. Instead, along with his advisors came at least twenty other young men Harry’s own age.

 

He introduced them all, various Lords and Dukes of various small counties, one or two foreign Prince’s in town looking for a good night amongst Britain’s finest. Louis could see the faces of the selected boys around him light up as they realized that perhaps their dreams of marrying a Prince were not so far off. Louis didn’t so much as bother to look over the other nobles, instead his mind fixed upon the idea that perhaps in a different world, one of those men would be Harry’s groom.

 

It wasn’t English tradition to marry off an oldest son for an alliance, but neither was the Prince marrying a man. Louis couldn’t help but wonder if Prince Guillaume of Luxembourg had ever been considered for Harry’s partner.

 

Harry seemed to radiate an air of excitement as he entered the dark room. His blue button down was only buttoned up halfway and he sported a few necklaces over a smooth chest adorned with a butterfly. Louis quickly shut his mouth at the sight of it. Each of his fingers were filled by rings Louis had never seen before, large ones, covering large swaths of Harry’s long fingers. As he spoke quietly to the young Lord of something or other, he couldn’t help but play with them. Louis wasn’t quite sure why he found that so attractive, but he knew that by the feeling in the pit of his stomach he wouldn’t mind becoming acquainted with Harry’s fingers.

 

The DJ near the back of the club started the music with a low pumping beat, and slowly but surely Harry’s friends found their way onto the dance floor. They seemed indiscriminate in who they danced with, floating from one Lord to another as the music built to a jumping pace. Harry was always somewhere in the middle, dancing up on his friends with a sense of rhythm so terrible Louis questioned at some points if he was trying.

 

Eventually, a few of the selected boys began to pair off with the Dukes and Princes, but all steered clear of the Prince they truly were there for. Louis stayed decidedly seated, having no interest in causing the massive scandal that would inevitably rise from at least one of the men tonight. Instead, he happily sipped his drink as he watched Zayn and Liam dance amongst the other men.

 

Harry had his first dance only a couple of songs later with Ed. The danced slightly awkwardly for 3 straight minutes before the song died down and they separated amicably with smiles and a couple of words which Louis guess had been somewhere along the lines of “that was fun” or some other non-offensive statement.

 

He then circled through the rest of the men, staying firmly on the dance floor as he pulled boys from the vicinity of his friends to dance a near full arms length away from each of them. His dance with Zayn seemed a lot more like two long time friends dancing with each other as they waited for real suitors to come along. Liam’s dance was a strange battle for dominance, as Liam’s three-inch gain on Harry’s head made it difficult to dance close to the Prince without it seeming like he was overtaking him.

 

Most frustratingly, Harry seemed to have a fantastic time with Miles. The two were smiling the entire time, chatting even. Harry even seemed to be dancing on him at points, grabbing his hips tight to his own body and his breath on the back of Miles’ neck. He even danced with him for two songs instead of the normal one.

 

The night was then nearing one in the morning and Louis began to fear that perhaps Harry had traded his dance for another with Miles. Louis’ heart panged frustratingly at the idea and his stomach twisted. He couldn’t help but shoot his fingers towards the bracelet secured around his wrist.   He carefully fiddled with it, reminding himself that Harry had given it to _him_ and that Miles had never gotten one of his own. Even after his date, he had gotten no gifts. Louis could only remind himself of that as he took little sips of his second drink.

 

The alcohol was starting to get to him, and as his chances of dancing with the Prince seemed to waver more and more, he stopped minding so much that he felt very far away from the scene. It wasn’t as if he feared that he might say the wrong thing, what with the cameras all pointed at the dance floor and anyone who he had any chance of speaking with busy having the time of their lives dancing. Louis had counted on an early night, and instead he was still in a dark club, drinking at just past one in the morning. Without paying too much attention, Louis finished his second drink.

 

The bar was meant to stay open for another hour or so, and Louis decided that after a long night of doing nothing he deserved a third. “Another, please,” he told the bartender with a lopsided smile. She too just smiled and put up another glass tumbler filled with colourful liquid.

 

“You come here often?” a voice beside him asked, and Louis turned his head to see the slightly sweaty form of Prince Harry leaning against the bar top with a smile on his own face. He’d gotten another drink without even asking, drinking something equally as colourful as Louis from a triangular cocktail glass.

 

“Never actually,” Louis giggled, “you see, I’m from up North, just visiting.”

 

Harry’s eyebrows rose as he mentioned his visit. “How long will you be in the city?” he asked over exaggeratedly, Louis made a note that the Prince would not be good at role-play.

 

Louis shrugged and took a drink of what now tasted like sugar sweet cough syrup, “somewhere between a couple more days and the rest of my life.” He finished by looked at Harry from under his eyebrows to drive home the point. He’d learned better than to ask if he was being kept by then, but he still wanted to know how secure he was.

 

“Hmm,” Harry mused, “whatever bastard isn’t giving you a clear answer should really buzz off.” Louis only sipped at his drink, “a dance?” Harry finally offered, and let out his hand as if they were about to foxtrot or something else equally regal.

 

Louis graciously accepted the hand and the two of them walked onto the dance floor. The room seemed to part around them, as dancing couples made way for them to find their way with into the centre of the floor. Louis could feel the cameras shift as he moved, and he almost wanted to hide from them, but Harry’s words echoed through his thoughts, _you’ve got to get your name out there somehow._ If he was to stay another week, he couldn’t fly under the radar for even a moment longer.

 

Louis had seen the Bachelor, the reality show adapted from the Selection process but with regular people marrying a regular man, and he knew that the participant with the most interesting backstory often won. There was no time for backstories here, so camera time would define fan favourites. Louis needed to ensure that he was one.

 

The DJ changed the song just as they settled onto the dance floor to so upbeat song made for dancing with someone else. He made a mental note to thank him if he could.

 

Their movements began quite innocently, Louis stood the arbitrary arms length away facing Harry as he moved his hips to the beat. As the music built, Louis became more and more self assured, half by the alcohol now pumping through his veins thick and disengaging, and half because Harry’s eyes had been racking up and down his body for a solid five minutes. Eventually he turned himself around and move minutely closer, as if to invite Harry to touch him.

 

Harry seemed to catch on quickly, and soon his hands were firmly grasping Louis’ hips, and slowly but surely bringing him closer to his own body as they danced together. Louis rejoiced as he felt Harry’s breath close and hot and thick on his neck, and felt a tendril of his curly hair fall into his shoulder. Then he felt Harry’s body against him. First his abdomen, then his hips, until finally he felt Harry’s cock pressed against the crest of his arse as they settled into a steady beat as the music morphed into something slightly slower. Carefully, Louis eased a hand behind him to grasp the back of Harry’s neck and pull him in closer. Any sense of decorum had been thrown out the window as they danced together.

 

Louis could feel Harry breathing heavy and slow against the side of his neck, and Louis was sure that if they were in any situation other than surrounded by Harry’s other suitors, he would have been kissing Louis’ neck by then. He swore that he could even feel the wetness of Harry’s lips in the millimetre of air between them. Something in Louis’ mind told him to turn around and kiss him, but he knew that he would cause some sort of upset worse than he already had.

 

Then, the song ended and Louis dropped his hand from Harry’s neck and eased his body off of Harry’s hips, even with the other man’s hands secured around his. Louis turned, making sure to put enough space between the two of them to avoid sending the wrong message. “That was fun,” Louis nodded as he spoke reluctantly.

 

At nearly the same time, Harry’s eyes got something alluringly innocent to them and his voice burst into the room, “do you want to dance some more?”

 

Louis was taken aback. They had gotten their one dance in, and surely Harry wanted to dance the last few songs with his real friends, and not a boy he barely knew and had to weigh the advantages of marrying while he danced. “There are only a few dances left, surely you-“

 

“All the more reason to continue,” Harry shrugged with a little sideways smile sneaking across his lips.

 

Louis wondered briefly if the alcohol had gone to Harry’s head, but he was too overjoyed by the prospect of dancing more with Harry that he couldn’t be overly bothered by the idea.

 

He nodded enthusiastically before turning around again and easing himself against Harry. The Prince seemed to settle in again quite happily, with his face around the side of Louis’ neck again within second and his heavy breathes radiating from his diaphragm against Louis’ upper back to where his exhale hit Louis’ skin, bonfire hot and wet like summer rain.

 

For a moment Harry’s face pulled away in the middle of the song, and Louis thought that he had decided against a second dance until he too tried to pull away just a little bit and Harry’s hands gripped his hips like a vice. Then Louis realized that he was looking around, and so Louis did too. The cameras had moved off of them for a moment, instead focussing on getting the very last ambience shots of the night, and each of Harry’s friend had paired off with one of Harry’s suitors for a final dance, not a single eye was on them.

 

Then Louis felt the wetness of Harry’s lips against his skin, and he understood why Harry had ensured they were out of the public eye. It was only for a moment, but it was enough to send a message to Louis that he was interested to say the very least. And, that if it were any other night, and Harry were any other man, he would have been going home with Louis tonight out of all his other suitors.

 

If there was a way to win the challenge, Louis reckoned that he had.  

 

***

The weekly elimination –much to Louis’ surprise- was not to be filmed live. Upon reflecting on it, Louis decided that was probably a good decision on the part of the organizational team. Boys were unpredictable, and tears were to be avoided if anyone could help it.

 

They were told that the elimination would take place in the studio, which much to Louis’ surprise was actually in the palace, and that they should be there by four in the afternoon to begin the elimination.

 

Louis was confident that he wasn’t leaving. If not by the bracelet still securely around his wrist, then by the way he could still remember how Harry’s lips had felt against the skin where his neck and shoulder met. Still, he stomach was churning as he got dressed.

 

The invisible forces who always laid out his outfits had chosen the most beautiful double breasted suit that Louis had ever seen. It was solid black with lacquered buttons and cinched in his waist like nothing Louis had ever seen. If he did say so himself, he looked fantastic. His jacket fit snug around his body as if it had been made just for him (the prospect of how they would have measured him for such a thing made him more than a little uneasy) and his pants wrapped around his arse and hips perfectly. It was exactly what Louis needed to boost his confidence.  

 

“”How many do you reckon are going?” Zayn asked form his place on Louis’ bed. They’d put him in a long coat that reminded Louis of a Naval uniform with red lapels.

 

Louis shrugged from where he continued to stare at the mirror. “Three or four probably. He did drop nearly ten on the first day, so he can’t be _that_ brutal tonight.”

 

Zayn made a face and nodded in agreement, “any predictions?”

 

“Casey Banks,” Louis said with complete confidence. “He’s boring as all hell. I’m surprised that he made it through the first day. He was on the other side of me at the interviews and they spoke for barely three minutes before Harry nearly yawned and had to remove himself diplomatically from that snooze fest,” then Louis paused, “horrible footy player, too.”

 

Zayn laughed, “you don’t reckon our football skills factored into eliminations, do you?” then he shook his head, “maybe the Prince has a thing for footy. Wonder what his team is.”

 

Louis shot his an amused look, “something treasonous probably, like Spurs,” Louis spat the team’s name as if it were physically repulsive.

 

Zayn laughed again, “careful who you say that around, I hear that’s Manson’s team.”

 

“Of course it would be.”

 

Zayn laid himself back onto Louis’ bed, careful not to bunch up his incredibly expensive coat, “It’s a bit weird getting all dressed up in the middle of the afternoon, don’t you think?”

 

Louis turned and leaned back against his immaculate desk. “Few less people to feed dinner to, I reckon,” he shrugged.

 

“Ye think it’s affective immediately?” Zayn sat up all of a sudden, eyes wide with worry.

 

“Oh please,” Louis waved a hand at him as if to say, _lie back down_ , “you aren’t going anywhere, no need to pack.”

 

Zayn didn’t move, “easy for you to say, isn’t it? Not all of us have 4000 pounds from the Prince around their wrists and just about got a love bite from an intoxicated monarch,” then after a beat, “and not all of us look like sex on wheels at the moment.”

 

The way Zayn said it didn’t seem predatory at all, which should have been strange, because they were too eligible gay men in a room by themselves. It was never like that with Zayn. Louis didn’t feel the slightest of anything for Zayn and Zayn felt the same for Louis. They were perfectly platonic and it just seemed to work.

 

“You’re right,” Louis nodded, “I’m sure Miles Semen looks like total shit right now,”

 

Zayn laughed and finally threw himself back against Louis’ duvet. “I’d love to see you too go at it sometime.”

 

Louis could hear Zayn talking down to him as he spoke, “I’ll have you know, Mr. Malik,” Louis began as pretentiously as he could, drawing inspiration from the voices of Harry’s advisors ringing through the palace. Their high, perfect pronunciation was wearing at Louis’ resolve. “That I am regarded as one of the best street fighters in Doncaster”

 

Louis could see Zayn’s body shake with laughter, “what, do you run through their legs and jab at the backs of their knees?”

 

Louis rolled his eyes despite the fact that he knew Zayn wouldn’t be able to see them. “I’m not that small you know. It’s just that every man here is a total giant.”

 

“Liam’s got a full head on you” Zayn shot back.

 

“And Liam lumbers around like Hagrid and still think’s he’s 16 and a foot shorter.” Louis defended, “I reckon Liam’s one of those guys who went through puberty overnight, like he went to bed at 5’7 and work up 6 feet, 3 inches of pure muscle.”

 

You still waiting for that to happen to you?” Zayn taunted, lovingly. Louis knew that Zayn never bantered with malicious intent, and he knew that Louis didn’t care all that much about his height, so it was fair game.

 

“Are you kidding?” Louis gasped in mock offense, “I’m a man! A manly, massive man!”

 

Zayn finally got up off Louis’ bed and smoothed down his jacket and silk pants, “come on manly man, let’s get you and your tiny waist to elimination.” He placed a hand on Louis’ back and pushed him out the door where a camera recorded their ominous walk down the hallway. Louis could practically hear the sad music they would play over the clip if it made it into the episode.

 

They followed the procession of other boys down the main staircase and through an unassuming door into the studio. Complete with a live studio audience, just like they had been at the announcement of selected boys. They all wore their very best clothes, their hair done up in fancy styles and the men in suits made of pristine fabric and ties of what Louis was sure was only the best silk.

 

They’d set up something of a standing bleacher for the selected boys, with three long stands stacked in receding order. The boys all had to be placed just right on the stands, so that standing behind an especially tall contestant overlapped no one. It easily took twenty minutes for the producers to hand pick the tallest boys for the last row and the shortest for the first. Louis, as expected, ended up at the end of the very first line as the shortest competitor of the entire selection. Louis felt that he probably should have been embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but notice that Miles Seaman had been placed as far away from the cameras as one could be and he wanted to cackle with glee and he smiled into the camera placed exactly at his eye line.

 

The boys had all been dressed in outfits begging for attention from their uniqueness. Louis easily spotted a teal suit and one covered in flowers, as well as one boy in the ugliest green trench coat Louis had ever seen. Most unfortunately, Miles looked lovely in his charcoal grey suit and skinny tie, elongating his long legs and pulling attention to his bright blue eyes. Louis reminded himself that he too had bright blue eyes, and that the solid black of his own outfit would draw the light to them. He also reminded himself that Miles looked like he had never seen the sun and Louis sported a beautifully golden tan forged from an entire sun in the backyard with his little sisters.

 

Prince Harry came in first looking like a wicker basket, but then upon further inspection, Louis decided he looked like an arts and crafts project gone terribly wrong. Still, he looked fantastic in his and Louis had the urge to tear it off him, half because it would look better in shreds and half because Harry would look better naked. In truth, Louis would be doing the world a service either way.

 

Harry smiled at each of the boys as he walked in, and Louis noticed how he lingered on Miles for a moment longer than anyone else. It set Louis’ teeth on edge and his muscles tense.

 

“Thank you all for joining me,” Harry started as the cameras began to roll and the audience became enthralled. “I thoroughly enjoyed the company of every single one of you this week,” Louis could hear a lie in his voice, but chose to ignore it, “and I am so glad that you all chose to spend this time getting to know me.” _As if we had a choice._ “But I sadly have to let some of you go home tonight so that I can continue on my journey to find my husband. Before I begin, I would just like to thank all of you again for the incredibly enjoyable week you have given me.” _We get it!_ Louis thought, _You had a really great time. Get on with it!_

 

“With that being said, I will be saying goodbye to four of you tonight,” Harry spoke as if it would actually be a hardship to send the most boring boys home. “The very first boy I will be sending home is,” Harry seemed to take an unnecessarily long pause, although in hindsight, Louis thinks that he may have imagined it, “William McFarlane.”

 

A boy that Louis could absolutely swear he had never seen in his life before took a step forward from the first row with his eyes glassy and a little smile –surely to force tears back into his eyes. William looked absolutely crushed and Louis felt a little bit bad for him, although he couldn’t have had much chance if even Louis had never heard of him. _Get your name out,_ Harry’s voice rung in Louis’ ears, and suddenly it felt so much more like a warning than encouragement.

 

“David Potts” was the next to be called off of the bleacher. He was short by the standard of the selected boys, and he had a boyish haircut along with a fat face that made him look much younger than he must have been. He didn’t seem to be all that surprised by the announcement. Unlike William, David kept a straight face as he shook the Prince’s hand one last time and walked as proudly as he could off of the stage. Louis commended him for keeping himself together so well.

 

“Anderson Perry” A tall blond boy stepped off of the second bleacher looking deflated. Poor Anderson with his lanky walk and mediocre football skills made his way to the front looking as if his dreams had been crushed, but absolutely determined not to cry.

 

Louis tried to imagine what he would do if he were the fourth name called that night, and he wasn’t proud to say that he was absolutely sure he would cry. He would probably break down right on stage into tears, and he wasn’t happy about it.

 

Thinking about how embarrassing it would be made Louis’ stomach churn again as they waited for the fourth and final name to be called. Louis had gone in almost positive that his name wouldn’t be called, and yet the waiting had broken down his belief more and more until he wasn’t at all sure. Truth be told, if he went home before Casey Banks did, he would be thoroughly upset, especially when he had been under the impression that he was one of the Prince’s favourites. Perhaps he had just imagined every touch or look he had gotten from Prince Harry the whole week. Even scarier, perhaps Harry had just been using him in some cruel joke. After all, he certainly wasn’t Harry’s typical type, looking around the room that was clear enough.

 

“Casey Banks,” Louis felt himself exhale in relief, and much of the room do the same. Casey’s hair had fallen over his eyes, so it was impossible to see whether or not he was crying, but Louis could see the deflated way his lips pressed into a thin line. He was upset, but it seemed more directed at himself. He hadn’t been unique enough, or interesting enough. And he hadn’t gotten his name out. _Get your name out, get your name out._

 

Louis’ fingers felt tingly as blood finally pumped through his veins again and he realized that he had been holding his breath. As subtly as he could, Louis tried to shake some feeling back into his extremities.

 

Just as Louis was ready to return to his room and curl up in a ball to settle his stomach, the other side of the studio lit up, and out came Martin McSilver in the –incredibly plasticized- flesh. He’d decided on a silver sequined blazer, just as Louis would expect that he would. “Let’s start the fun part, shall we?” He projected into the crowd and was met by cheers from every one of London’s upper class.

 

Louis did not want to sit through another twenty minutes of interviews after such a stressful ceremony. He wanted to take an early night and sleep off his lingering nerves. Instead, Harry smiled and followed Martin onto the other set, two couches with a coffee table in the middle. The background was the familiar sunset orange and purple that Louis was so used to.

 

This was not how Louis had wanted to see the set of The Report. He had dreamed it would be some grand event, and he would get a chance to sit on the couch across from Martin McSilver with a grin on his face and possibly a crown on his head, instead he felt like he wanted to vomit still.

 

“Well Your Highness, it’s been quite the week for you, hasn’t it.” Martin started after he and Harry had settled themselves.

 

Harry nodded, a smile forcing its way onto his face. “It really has. I’ve met some amazing men this week. Every one of them is smart and interesting and attractive, I couldn’t be more grateful.”

 

“So you would say that your husband is among those men?”

 

Harry looked back at the group, scanning his eyes over every boy. Louis just stared as Harry caught his eye. It was only a moment, but it was enough for Louis. “Yes Martin, my husband is in that group over there.”

 

Louis’ heart tugged at itself as he heard Harry say such a thing. He knew that the comment hadn’t been aimed at him specifically, after all Harry didn’t know any of them well enough to love them, but something in it struck a chord within Louis. There were now 33 men on the bleachers, and Louis was one of them. In the end, all that mattered was that one of them would become Prince Harry’s husband, and it very well could be Louis.

 

“Well, let’s get some candidates over here, shall we?” Martin offered and Louis very nearly threw up right there from the nerves. He knew that it wasn’t likely that he would be chosen for an interview, but the possibility was terrifying enough. “You took your very first solo date on Tuesday evening with Miles Seaman of Humberside, why did you choose him?”

 

“Well I quite enjoyed our conversation the first time we spoke on Sunday, so I thought that it might be nice to speak a little bit more with him. I wanted to get to know him in a less public setting.”

 

“And you enjoyed it?”

 

“Miles is a lovely man, he’s very intelligent and his thoughts are something I could listen to for hours. I was quite happy to show him around one of my favourite parts of the palace grounds while we spoke as well.” Harry spoke very diplomatically about Miles, and Louis couldn’t help but notice that his smile never widened from the prim one already on his face.

 

“Why don’t we invite him over to tell us his own thoughts about the date,” Martin offered, motioning over to Miles, who’s tall form stood in the very last row of the bleacher.

 

Miles walked smooth and confident over to the couch and sat politely on the other side of the couch from Harry. He was perfectly unpresumptuous and perfectly happy. Louis itched to scream at him, the faker.

 

“Miles, what was your experience of the evening?”

 

“It was absolutely lovely,” Miles gushed with unmasked joy that made Louis’ blood boil just a little bit, “we walked around the rose garden, which is truly the most breathtaking place I’ve ever been, and we spoke about things that were truly so intriguing. The Prince is a wonderful thinker, he’s so smart.” He looked at Harry then as if he worshipped him, and the way his voice had become something young and innocent was not lost on Louis.

 

“Well, it seems that you have emerged as one of the front runners of this selection,” Martin told the audience and Louis couldn’t help but be angry, “I don’ know if you have been looking at the Internet lately, but I’ve seen many articles about you.”

 

Miles blushed, “I have been looking at social media, I’m trying to stay away from gossip sites, as I’ve been told they aren’t always too kind, but I’ve been really enjoying the positive comments on Instagram and the like.”  

 

Louis didn’t have a cell phone. He didn’t have any way to seen any of the news running about the selection or run some sort of social media promo campaign as he was sure everyone else was. _Get your name out_. And he just wasn’t able to do that the same way that the others were.

 

“Well Miles it was very nice to speak with you,” Martin dismissed, “why don’t we move onto another frontrunner, shall we. This one is shrouded in a lot more mystery. Let’s welcome Louis Tomlinson of South Yorkshire!”

 

Louis froze. He had never believed it when people were unable to move in books and movies, but in that moment time seemed to stop and Louis felt like he was paralyzed. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breath. Hell, he could barely even think!

 

Without his own consent, his legs carried him over to the couch, where he shook hands with Martin McSilver and sat on the couch on the other side from Harry, all as if he was watching it from outside his body. He could tell that he probably looked like a dear in the headlights the entire time.

 

“Louis!” Martin greeted, “it’s lovely to meet you,” his warm smile thawed Louis’ frozen joints just a little bit and Louis tried his very best to avoid looking out into the audience and freezing again. “You burst onto the radar after you appeared with a bracelet of unknown origin, would you like to explain where you got it?”

 

Louis steeled himself. He could not fuck up such an opportunity. Putting on his nicest smile (one even nicer than Miles’) and began to speak, “It was a very kind gift from the Prince,” he looked gratefully at Harry on just the right beat, and Harry smiled back, “You see, my bedroom in the palace is one floor below the Prince’s and it seemed that on my first night we were both on our balconies at the same time. The Prince unfortunately dropped his phone from his own balcony, and I caught it completely by chance. We spoke for a while when he came to retrieve it, and the next morning he gave me this beautiful thing as a thank you.”

 

“Tonight the world will see your group date with the Prince, where you and some others went dancing. You seemed to be a favourite there too, why do you think that was?”

 

Louis’ smile widened on cue, “I can’t be sure, you’ll have to ask His Highness, but I can say that I truly enjoyed the time we dance together. The Prince is a wonderful partner.”

 

“You ask me to ask the Prince’s thoughts, and so I will,” Martin laughed stunted, “what say you Prince Harry?”

 

Harry grinned, “Louis is the most wonderful dance partner I could ask for. He’s a fantastic dancer and he’s always a joy to talk to, I was just enjoying myself too much to pull myself away.”

 

It was difficult to gauge how much Harry was being genuine as he spoke. A certain percentage of what he said had to be for the cameras, and Louis desperately wanted to know which of his words he truly meant.

 

“Louis have you too been getting the positive attention online that Miles was?”

 

Louis shook his head and a few people in the audience gasped. “I don’t own a cell phone, Mr. McSilver, so I haven’t been able to hear anything on the Internet, but I’m sure that people are being lovely.” _God did Louis hope they were being kind,_ especially because it would be incredibly embarrassing if he insinuated such and instead people were only telling him to fuck off.  

 

“You’ve got to get a cell phone, my boy,” Martin told him as if he were Louis’ father or some wise old man, “I’m sure your fans would love to interact with you on social media. I’ve seen many rather passionate ones on there.” He promised, probably sensing Louis’ nerves pertaining from the Internet’s response to him. Louis nodded. “Well Louis, it’s been lovely to speak with you but we must get to the last frontrunner from this week.”

 

Louis returned quickly to his place on the end of the first row. “Niall Horan!” Martin announced just as he put himself back in his place and Louis was confused. Sure Niall wasn’t a total prick and was actually kind of fun to be around, but Louis had never seen him even speak to the Prince.

 

“Niall, you’ve become one of the most liked contestants here. How did you become so charming?” Martin asked and suddenly Louis understood. Of course people would love Niall, Niall was just a very likable guy. He was confident and interesting and fun, what wasn’t there to be a fan of?  

 

“It’s that Irish charm,” Niall joked, “I guess the folks at home are enjoying my inside look at the competition on Snapchat.” Then, as if he were in an infomercial he turned to the camera with a stunning smile, “you can add me as NiallHoran01 if you’d like to see this next week through my eyes.”

 

He spoke perfectly calculatedly, and Louis realized that he may not have had much contact with the Prince, but he’d been playing the game in a very different way. He’d figured out that if he made himself so liked that he was an integral part of the competition, they wouldn’t be able to send him home. Louis couldn’t help but be incredibly impressed.

 

He knew then that he desperately needed a cell phone. If he had any hope of winning, he would have to cultivate a group of absolutely devout fans.  

 

***

Louis barely made it back to his bedroom after the elimination. He felt as if every fibre of his being had been drained slowly but surely from nerves and putting on the act of civility for everyone at home. He only wanted to sleep as he returned to his bedroom.

 

He didn’t take much notice of his bedroom as he entered it. It looked much as it had when he left it, but the bed sheets had been smoothed out were Zayn had left a dent in them and a set of Tiffany blue silk pyjamas had been set out for him to wear.

 

Upon further inspection, Louis discovered that they had been monogrammed with a cursive LT on the chest pocket. He didn’t bother to ask any questions as to where the PJ’s had originated from and instead slipped into their soft fabric without protest. Louis figured that this was what being wrapped up in a cloud would feel like. As he buttoned up the shirt he felt its soft fabric brush over his chest and he very nearly moaned.

 

It was just what he had needed after such a stressful day. As he snuggled into the thick, white comforter on his bed and settled into the soft memory foam mattress he felt that he would fall into a deep, wonderful sleep the second he let his head hit the pillow.

 

Then, he felt a cool wind against his cheek. Torn from his near sleep state, he sat up with a frown and looked around his empty room. His door was still closed, and the bathroom door was still just as ajar as it had been when Louis had entered. Louis could find the source of this cool air until he looked to his left to find the French doors leading to his balcony thrust completely open. He thought this awfully curious, as the people who cleaned his room always closed his balcony door when he forgot to and they had clearly been in his bedroom since he had left for elimination.

 

Perhaps it was his fatigue contributing to it, but Louis suddenly felt absolutely terrified. The possibility of someone being in his room (or rather outside his room) made his breath catch in his throat and his lungs seem shut themselves off. The wind caught on the curtains and pulled them into the room. Louis took a deep breath before getting out of bed and going to the door.

 

He paused before he left, silently sending a prayer to a God that he wasn’t even sure existed that he didn’t get murdered when he walked out.

 

The balcony was empty, and for a second Louis only looked around, surveying the small area for any signs of danger. Louis was so caught up in looking for reasons for his possibly death that he looked right past the white box sitting on the floor by the railing.

 

The box was rectangular and made of a matte white cardboard. On top of it was a not written on Royal stationary, and for a moment Louis thought that it was a ransom note.

 

_Don’t drop it ;)_

_-Harry_

 

Louis opened the box to reveal a silver IPhone.


	4. Week 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back in 1.5 months instead of two! Wow Miracle! 
> 
> Thanks to sexatoxbridge on tumblr for reblogging my fic post and letting me wake up to 24 notifications form your lovely followers. If you'd like to reblog it: [ x ](https://mcssymon.tumblr.com/post/164926517625/like-water-over-fire-like-water-on-fire-by)

Louis met the Queen for the first time on Monday morning. She was a short woman, at least shorter than the Prince, but she commanded a sort of respect that made Louis’ spine shoot upright and his eyes lock onto her as she moved through the women’s room.

 

She didn’t carry anything to start, but the moment she sat on one of the many teal sofas, a servant brought out a half finished needlepoint circle from thin air. She smiled like she didn’t know that she was royalty, and Louis figured that she probably no longer thought about it after some twenty years.

 

Louis remembered from King Desmond’s selection that Queen Anne had been a favourite right off the bat. She hadn’t come from nobility, but she was well enough off that it was still somewhat understandable that she might become Queen. She was also the prettiest, of course –and still is as she walks into the women’s room. Louis always liked her because she wasn’t ever cocky about how well liked she was. Even when asked about dates or kisses, she was cordial and grateful. There was not a single clip from her selection when she bragged about anything. Louis admired her greatly.

 

She sat on her sofa alone for a while absorbed in her needlepoint. From his place near the bookshelf in the back, Louis could see men stare at her from their respective groups, wondering if they should approach her. Then, without eve a look up from her sewing she announced in a high but resoundingly clear voice: “Keith Stokes.”

 

And just with that, Keith stumbled from his place across the room where he was seated with a group of boys –of which Louis couldn’t name a single one by memory. He took a careful seat on the sofa with the Queen and she proceeded to ask him questions, barely looking up from her needlepoint as she did so.

 

She rotated through boys, each looking terrified as they stood up and took a seat next to her. Louis tried his best not to listen in, instead favouring his reading of a memoir by some Viscount from a century before.

 

The book itself was absolutely terrible, and featured many in-depth recounts of his sexual exploits over his travels through the European continent. Louis found it slightly painful to read paragraphs about the size of this man’s penis, and how many women he could manage to sleep with in one night, but he carried on all the same.

 

Queen Anne asked varying questions, some much harder than others and it seemed that different boys got different sorts of questions –perhaps depending on what she thought was the likelihood of them marrying her son. Those she seemed uninterested in received much broader questions about their families, their hobbies, their aspirations. Other received much scarier ones: their political standing, their thoughts on marriage or children.

 

When Miles Seaman was called up, Louis had just reached the rather exciting part of his book when the Viscount met a woman named Magritte in a Spanish market. He had fallen in love with her on the spot, and resolved that he would marry her even if he was to marry a woman of nobility when he returned home.

 

He tried his best to read about the Viscounts mission to getting Magritte back into England, but the moment that Miles was asked about his attitude towards the monarchy, Louis couldn’t help but listen.

 

He continued to be asked equally pressing questions, and Louis knew she was vetting him for her son and not because she had to. Miles smiled as he had to when asked how he felt about children and went on and on about how good he was with kids. It was barely bragging, but Louis hoped she picked up on how high Miles was on himself. She didn’t seem to though, even when he told her he could do a better job with the gardens than the palace gardener. She even looked at him a couple of times cordially enough that Louis feared she might actually _like_ him.

 

After only a couple minutes of Miles being his regular, rather arrogant self, the Queen thanked him and he was sent back to his seat all too close to Louis. Then the waiting game began again as she called boy after boy to chat.

 

The Viscount had gone on a four page monologue about Magritte and her “virtue” that Louis had only browsed through before reaching a more interesting part of the story in which he and Magritte were married at the light of dawn on a ship which was anchored down in the docks in Cardiff so that they had been married legally on English soil. Louis thought it awfully romantic –even if the following pages were rather detailed descriptions of their wedding night.

 

He became so invested in the story from that point on that he nearly missed the formal announcement of his name, complete with the S. He only realized it had been his name called when Zayn shoved his arm from his place on the sofa to his right and pulled the book out of Louis’ hands.

 

He focussed on taking deep breaths as he approached the Queen and told himself that it didn’t actually matter what sort of questions she asked him because she wasn’t the one sending him home, but he couldn’t help but think that if she had had a hand in picking the selected boys, surely she had a hand in who her son married at the end of it. He tried to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach when he realized that she had picked all men who didn’t look anything like Louis.

 

She didn’t look up when Louis sat down and he wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad sign. On one hand she hadn’t looked up at anyone, but one would think your future mother in law would want to make eye contact with you as you sat down with her. Louis ignored that too.

 

He stayed calm all until she opened her mouth and instead of asking something stressful and hard-hitting: “Do you sew, Louis?”

 

He floundered for a moment, before remembering that he did -in fact- know how to sew. “Yes, your highness,” he said rather proudly, but then the Queen offered him her needlepoint and again he was floundering, “mending, I mean. I never learned the pretty stuff.” Then Louis had the urge to slap himself right across the face because he had called embroidery “pretty stuff” in front of the Queen and surly offended her greatly.

 

Queen Anne didn’t seem upset by his words, instead she chuckled and pushed the needlepoint hoop towards him again. Tentatively, Louis took it. Queen Anne grinned from ear to ear. “You’ll find that this is isn’t all that different from mending.” she promised, “Here, I’ll show you a few of my favourite stitches.”

 

They sat together for maybe fifteen more minutes as the Queen directed Louis’ shaking hands as to how to hold the needle to get a precise stitch and the best way to go about making French knots. Eventually, the two of them had made a beautiful –albeit wobbly- flower off centre of the fabric. Queen Anne seemed to have truly enjoyed teaching him, with a smile plastered over her face and a patient hand as Louis stitched and re-stitched the petals and stem until he felt that he had done the Queen proud.

 

She didn’t ask him any questions beyond ones that pertained to his sewing technique, but she looked in his eyes when she praised a particularly good stitch and smiled all the while. Louis liked to think that he had won her over.

 

The Viscount ended up being accepted back into his family because Magritte was of noble birth, and while this ending slightly disappointed Louis, he should have known seeing as the book was in the palace in the first place.

 

***

 

“Do you ever think about what it would be like to live here forever?” Louis asked the next afternoon.

 

He and Zayn had set themselves at a table in the gardens, looking out at the hedge maze with a jug of lemonade sitting on the wrought iron table between them. It was a much-needed break from the strangling feeling of the women’s room. It seemed they had finally earned enough trust from the palace guards to roam freely throughout the day when nothing was to be filmed and no dates were to be had, but even then most of the boys had chosen to stay in the women’s room on account of the Queen being rumoured to return for a second vetting. Louis had immediately agreed with Zayn when he had suggested that it didn’t actually matter whether or not the Queen was returning, and they’d both be better off taking a day away from the locker room gossip plaguing the selected boys.

 

“Nah,” Zayn chuckled as he took a long sip from his glass. They were the sort that had little flowers carved into the sides and were probably made from crystal despite the fact that Louis couldn’t actually tell the difference between that and glass. “I reckon you’d forget what normal life is like too quickly.”

 

“And this isn’t real?”

 

“I don’t think so. This isn’t what it’s like to live in England, really. You and I know better than any of these rich pricks.” Zayn scoffed, “And that’s what’s wrong with this monarchy in the first place. If you live in this sort of place for your whole life, how’re you meant to know what your people really need?”

 

Zayn’s distain for the monarchy was something that Louis had come to understand. He, himself had felt it too in his own life, but where Louis’ boyish wonder had saved him, Zayn’s anger with his own situation had only fuelled his hatred. Silently, Louis thanked the lord that something more interesting had drawn the cameras away from them so as not the hear him say such a thing.

 

“So you aren’t here to win then?”

 

“Nah, man,” Zayn laughed, “just wanted to try filet mignon.”

 

Remembering his own first taste of the steak, Louis could see what he meant. “Did it live up to your expectations?” he asked. He took another sip of his lemonade then, now watered down by the melting ice under the hot summer sun.

 

“Hell yeah it did,” Zayn spoke rather passionately, “and so I’ve fulfilled my purpose here. I’ll be fine if I’m gone by Friday.” Zayn shrugged and leaned back into his chair as he cast a glance into the maze in front of them and the bright blue sky above. Louis couldn’t help but think that everything was brighter here. Sometimes he’d just look out a window or up at a ceiling and it would feel like he had been living perpetually in a world where everything was just the slightest shade of grey at all times.

 

“No marriage prospect for you? No dreams of crowns and rings and big royal weddings?” Louis teased, “not even a little bit?”

 

Zayn shrugged, “couldn’t bear to be tied down so quick. I reckon I’ve got loads of unmarried things to do. Wanna fuck a few regrettable people before I settled down.”

 

“What’s the use in regretting?” Louis asked.

 

Zayn didn’t answer right away, instead favouring to only ask, “How many people have you slept with?”

 

Louis froze a little bit. Even with Zayn, who he’d come to trust, it seemed a little too sensitive to tell. “Well, none.” He admitted.

 

Louis half expected Zayn to laugh at him, to tell him that he was a loser or sad or something else, but Zayn didn’t make any face different from his previous one and began to speak again, “and you’re willing to ‘one and done’ it with Prince Harry?”

 

Louis shrugged, “I guess.”

 

Zayn seemed to think that was preposterous, making a show of nearly spitting out his lemonade in surprise. “What if he’s bad?” he exclaimed, “Or has a small dick or something? It’s not like you get to test drive ‘em first.”

 

Louis wasn’t sure if saying the Crown Prince had a small dick was a crime, but he was happy they were still alone, just in case. He let out a little giggle, “and you wouldn’t want to sleep with a Prince?”

 

“Not if it’s a binding contract!” Zayn nearly yelled, and Louis could see a gardener off in the distance of the gardens give them a look. He figured that he had no stake in having Zayn kicked out for treason, but Louis could feel his cheeks go red all the same. “Once or twice sure, but every day for the rest of my life? No way. I’d rather fuck regrettable people forever than find out that Prince Harry insists of being called your highness when he comes.”

 

“I doubt he does-“

 

“Are you kidding? I bet he can’t get off without a scented candle up his arse!”

 

The gardener had since moved away from them and Louis prayed he didn’t have supersonic hearing because he had a feeling that making such crude accusations about a Prince was probably grounds for being sent home immediately.

 

“You better shut up,” Louis warned.

 

“Or, _or,_ he only comes at a certain time of day. Like he can only nut at 6:30pm.”

 

“That’s dinner time.” Louis reminded him, no longer believing Zayn’s crazy story.

 

Zayn only smirked, “You don’t know what he gets up to under that table.” He arched his brows like he was quite proud of that comment and awaited Louis’ response.

 

He reached across the table to jostle Zayn’s shoulder. “I’m surprised you haven’t been arrested yet for saying that.”

 

Zayn shrugged, “It’s not slander if it’s true. And anyways we all know you’re the only one who’s going to get a taste of that sweet, sweet royal arse.”

 

“Shush!” Louis chastised.

 

“What? It’s true! You’ve basically got a Sugar Daddy and the Prince is falling over his own two feet for you. You think I didn’t notice you in the club last week? Because I sure as hell noticed how he basically had his mouth on you despite the fact that you two haven’t spoken more than two words to each other. I don’t know how it works in royal courtship, but normal people don’t spend 4000 pounds on men they don’t plan to sleep with.” Zayn said, finishing off his glass of lemonade and setting the cup down hard on the table it made a loud dinging noise.

 

“He’s done the same with other boys too!” Louis said. Suddenly he felt he had to defend himself against Harry’s advances, despite the fact that he absolutely adored all the attention. “You must’ve heard Miles talking all about how he’d gotten a rose when they’d gone on their date.”

 

Zayn sighed as if remembering the six or seven times he’d heard Miles tell the same story. “Who hasn’t? But it’s still different. He’s all over you, and he wouldn’t even kiss Miles at the end of their date. I bet that if you two went out, you wouldn’t even make it out of your room without making out.”

 

Louis shrugged, “not much way to tell, seeing as he hasn’t asked me out.”

 

It wasn’t that Louis was upset about the lack of date invitation being presented to him, because he’d not been at the castle for more than a few days, but sometimes he felt a little bit like a dirty secret. Even if Harry hadn’t even kissed him yet, he’d left Louis an IPhone on his balcony instead of presenting it for the other boys too see. Maybe that was a wicked thing to want, and maybe Miles was bringing out the very worst in him, but he did want to brag about all he’d gotten from Harry and tell the other boys to fuck off.

 

“It’s only Tuesday. He’ll have to do at least one this week and what’s stopping it from being yours?” Zayn asked.

 

“Shouldn’t you be trying to take it from me, rather than help me win the Prince over?” Louis asked, despite the fact that he knew Zayn was too good for that.

 

For a second, something flashed over Zayn’s eyes and although Louis couldn’t place it completely, he could tell it wasn’t jealousy or anger. Maybe guilt? Louis wasn’t sure because it disappeared as soon as it came into another of Zayn’s classic smirks. “Regrettable people, remember?”

 

***

 

“This is what you’ve deemed appropriate to have drinks with the King in?” Louis asked incredulously.

 

Mary Ellen, the eldest of his two maids shot him a warning look. Louis had decided that he didn’t like her. Her hair was greying at the roots with the rest of her red hair pulled into a tight braid down her back and she wore her maids outfit like it was a military uniform. “It’s your brand!”

 

“I haven’t got a brand!” Louis insisted, shooting a glance over to his other maid, Perrie. She matched his own sceptical look. “Putting me in stripes and suspenders isn’t going to make me the next Adidas.”

 

“That’s not what we mean, Louis.” Compete with the S, because she seemed to think that dropping it was unsophisticated or some pretentious thing along those lines.

 

“I think,” Perrie started, and Mary Ellen gave her a look that seemed to say that she wasn’t meant to speak. Still Perrie continued, “that Louis means that he doesn’t think that he will fit in with the rest of the boys.”

 

“And that I don’t want to look like I’m the token gay guy.” Louis cut in. Perrie nodded along, but Mary Ellen’s looks kept on coming.

 

As Mary Ellen prepared to start off again with her chastising speech, Perrie ran off to the closet and returned with a blue button up shirt, still overly bright for Louis’ taste, but much better than the stripes and suspenders. “What if we switch out the top? That way it’s more dressed up and a little more subdued.”

 

Perrie had been in his corner since the beginning of the selection. Every time he was given an outfit that didn’t make him look like patriotic vomit, it was Perrie’s choice. It seemed that she actually wanted to make him look attractive rather than sell him to the audience. Plus, she was absolutely lovely –judging by the few interactions he had had with her. Perrie was young where Marry Ellen was old, and bouncy where she was flat. Often Louis wished that he could tell Mary Ellen to fuck off every time she walked into the room but he knew that -in her own way- she was doing her best to help Louis out.

 

Louis gave them a twirl once he was dressed, and Perrie clapped along with him while Mary Ellen still looked sceptical. He tried not to pay too much attention to her demeanour. Soon enough he’s received at least partial approval from both and he’s being pushed out the door on his way to dinner.

 

It seemed to be ‘meet the parents’ week as they’d been told that evening that they would join the King for drinks after dinner in the salon. Louis had thought a salon was for hair, but had been informed otherwise by Niall as soon as he’d said it. The prospect of talking with King Desmond was a lot scarier than talking with Queen Anne. At least then they had found a similar interest very quickly, but Louis couldn’t think of anything he could have in common with a King, born into royalty, who seemed to be interested exclusively in hunting and politics and being a King. Funnily enough, Louis wasn’t interested in any of those things, go figure. So he couldn’t think of a single thing he had to say to King Desmond other than to ask if he was really in love with Queen Anne –although judging by circumstance, the odds seemed slim.

 

He was torn away from these thoughts as he entered the dining room. They never ate with the King and Queen, but often Harry would come to join them, so it wasn’t surprising when the head seat at the table was taken by a mop of curly hair in a bright yellow suit.

 

Louis tried his best not to be irked by the fact that Miles Semen had taken the seat to the right of Harry and they were in the middle of what seemed to be an amicable conversation. If Louis walked briskly towards the last seat beside Harry, no one needed to know. Harry smiled as he approached, stopping is conversation with Miles point-blank -much to Louis’ delight- and got up just to hug him hello.

 

Prince Harry hugged like you would expect him to, whole-heartedly with his head hooking over Louis’ shoulder and holding his against his chest. The warmth from his cheek, where it touched his neck, melted away any sense of distain Louis might have been harbouring.

 

“How was your day?” Harry asked as he settled back into his seat.

 

Louis couldn’t help but think about his rather rude conversation with Zayn, which he decided was not something he cared to share with Harry. Nor did he want to share that he had spent his morning in his bedroom playing around with his brand new phone, or that he had just come from a lengthy conversation with his maids about this being an absolutely terrible outfit. Harry was probably already aware of the last part, because anyone with eyes could see that suspenders and bright blue button ups were a bad combination. “It was nice.” He said instead.

 

Then, after a second and only because he wanted to keep the conversation on him and away from Miles or any other boy entering the dining room and leaning in to speak, “I met your mum yesterday, though.”

 

Harry’s face lit up at the mention of his mum and Louis couldn’t but think it incredibly attractive that Harry was the sort of guy who loved his mum. “She told me!” he said rather excitedly, his teeth were flashing through his happy smile. Louis didn’t know what to think about the Queen having told Harry about their meeting, but he figured she had probably told him about all of them and Harry was just being polite. “she said that you two bonded over sewing. She also said you were the only one who took an interest in it. I think she’s thinking of inviting you for tea some time to talk about it, but feel free to say no because I figure you don’t actually love needlepoint as much as she does.” Harry smiled all the way through.

 

Tea, with the Queen! Imagine how many boys would kill for that opportunity, and all Louis had to do was try to sew for a little bit! And even better, he truly had enjoyed the time they’d spent together, so it wasn’t like doing it again would be suffering.

 

“No, no!” Louis tried to say as graciously as he could, “I really did love spending all that time with her. I’d learned to sew so I could mend things but I’d never learned embroidery, it’s actually quite fun.”

 

Miles cut in then and Louis kind of wanted to tell him to leave. “I’ve never met a boy who could sew!” he said in a way that sounded nice but didn’t mean well, “I mean, most boys are more inclined to more _industrial_ hobbies.” Then he turned to Harry, “did I ever tell you that I’m a great woodworker?”

 

_First of all, shut up. Second of all, this isn’t 1850; no one needs to woodwork anymore,_ Louis thought. Honestly, did Miles make birdhouses as a pastime? Shit, that actually made him seem like he was a wonderful person who cared about wildlife. Terrible.

 

Then –without prompting- Miles burst into a monologue about the many building projects he had taken up. Luckily it wasn’t birdhouses, but rather desks and chairs and things you could buy at Ikea. If that was the standard for being a woodworker, Louis was one too. Still, Harry listened thoughtfully and Louis began to wonder if every time he spoke he was just as boring as Miles, seeing as they had garnered the same reaction for the Prince. But Harry smiled politely, and Louis –at least- liked to think that he smiled genuinely when Louis told him things.

 

When Miles had finished being a prick and there was a break in his speech, Louis took the opportunity to cut in, “I don’t suppose your father likes to sew as well,”

 

Harry’s face dropped a little bit, “No, he’s not an embroiderer,” he shook his head. “But he likes football, I seemed to remember that you were pretty good at football.”

 

The issue with football however – and Harry certainly wouldn’t have known this- was that the Royal Family were famously Arsenal fans and Louis was a devout Man U supporter. He didn’t know if he could even make it through a conversation with an Arsenal supporter, let alone one respectful enough for the King! Perhaps he was a fan of a team outside of the England. Maybe Real Madrid, Louis liked them well enough. Or maybe the King liked to play, and he and Louis could talk about boots and technique. Okay, probably not.

 

Louis tried to smile as politely as he could, “maybe.”

 

Then some guy sat next to him leaned in and started to chat all about his day and how he had had the very best time in the women’s room that morning. Louis tried his best to tune it out as food started to show up at his side for him to pick from. It was fish and chips that night, which Louis had never thought was served in the palace but was happy to see all the same. And, they had fried every friable fish there was -even halibut, which Louis knew was nearly 15 pounds apiece. Needless to say, he ate one of every kind, just to taste them.

 

Miles only ate halibut, which pissed Louis off a little more than it should have because most of the boys did. Why pass up the best? Still, everything Miles did irked him a little and he wasn’t in the mood to legitimize every move he made.

 

Dessert was a truly massive spread of every delicious thing in the world. Donuts, cakes, ice creams, fancy French pastries and even cake pops –which from Louis’ understanding were tiny balls of cake on a stick and the sort of thing you would get for your thirteenth birthday if you were the sort of person who spent money on silly things. It was a mad dash for the pastries and a much slower one for the cake pops as boys finally admitted that the idea of tiny cakes was actually really exciting. (They weren’t all that good).

 

As they feasted on a variety of pure sugar treats, a lady with a clipboard began to split them into two groups for their after dinner meetings. He couldn’t be sure if the meetings were predetermined or if they were created on the fly, but Louis somehow found himself in the same group as Miles and in a different one from Zayn or any other person who might’ve protected him from the bastard. The idea of spending an extended amount of time with him kind of made Louis want to throw up, but he swallowed the mounting bile and gave him a little smile as they walked into the sitting room.

 

Half of the boys followed Prince Harry through to the salon while the rest of them were forced to wait with little patience for their turn.

 

“I reckon Harry has probably told his dad about me,” Miles spoke into the silence of the room and Louis couldn’t help but wonder what part of his brain had told him that was a good thing to say to a room of other candidates for his marriage. “I think we’ll probably get on well.”

 

Louis hoped that one day he would meet Miles Seaman again, whether or not he was the Prince consort of England, and punch him in the face. Sadly that day was not today and he definitely didn’t have the confidence to do it in the presence of some many other boys –and advisors to the King- when the repercussions of it would probably outweigh the perks (even the sweet, sweet joy of punching Miles).

 

So he tried his very hardest to tune Miles out, because his fingers were starting to curve into fists. The room was panelled in dark wood and each light was glowing a warm yellow which made the room seem as if it were being heated with wood fire, despite the fact that it was still summer so the fireplace was just a little alcove filled with stone. Louis hoped he’d be here through to fall to drink hot chocolate by this fire.

 

The selection would run through to mid-November and if by some miracle, he found himself the Prince consort of England by the end of it all, he would insist that they spend Christmas day here, with a little tree filled with real ornaments rather than the stylized ones put up for pictures. Maybe then the palace would feel more like the real life that Zayn want so much. Louis didn’t want to live his life for pictures and videos and magazine exclusives, and he certainly didn’t want to marry the Prince for that. He wanted to marry the Prince because he liked him, and so far he thought he did. _If only he got to spend some time alone with him._

 

He didn’t have all that much more time to think because soon the boys were filing back in, in varying stages of happiness. Zayn looked fine, like he hadn’t offended the King but was still set in his very Zayn-like way of hating anything that had to do with upperclassmen and “the man”. Beside him, Liam followed like a puppy dog. Louis liked to think that he would be the sort of puppy bought to be a guard dog but turned out too kind hearted to kill even a mouse. He kept his head low, and Louis had a feeling that he hadn’t said a word in the entire time he was in there. Niall looked loose, and his smile was a little wider than usual, maybe like he’d had a little too much to drink.

 

An advisor came forward to call the rest of them in, and Louis recognized her as the one who had accompanied him here. Her nose was still as thin and high as he remembered it and he liked her just as little as he had at first. Still he followed her through to the salon dutifully.

 

King Desmond wasn’t necessarily a large man, but he commanded so much air that he seemed to take up twice as much of the room as he should have. Consequentially, each of the boys sat more than a safe distance from him as they stayed cumbersomely conscious of his presence. Beside them, a glass of something amber was placed and Louis figured it was scotch but couldn’t have figured it out even from taste. In the arm chair beside his father sat Harry. He’d since taken his terrible suit jacket off and rolled up the sleeves of his black pussybow blouse. Louis hadn’t realized it was see through until then and suddenly his breath seemed to catch in his throat as he was faced with a large butterfly covering his diaphragm through the shade of the top. To be honest, he wasn’t sure how one reacts to seeing the entire chest of the man they’re kind of flirting with in the presence of said man’s father, but he was fairly sure downing the entirety of his glass wasn’t the way to do it.

 

He did it anyways.

 

Even worse, he saw all eyes on him as he finished, including the King. He took a deep breath and turned to the rest of the boys as if to say _anyways._ And launched into an entirely polite conversation about the palace grounds and politics (in which every boy agreed with the King, even if it was clear they did not). Louis kept his eyes locked to Harry, and followed his fingers as they played with his lower lip, rings rolling over each other and Louis couldn’t help but miss large swaths of the conversation. Fuck, Harry was really hot wasn’t he?

 

Obviously Louis had been aware that Harry was an attractive boy, but it hadn’t really hit him that Harry was actually alluring or sexy or hot until that moment, with his father in the room. His eyes held a sort of intensity to them without him even trying and Louis longed to have them stare at him. His arms were wide and built enough that he could probably carry him if he put his mind to it and his legs were strong and toned. God, Louis had never thought about anyone’s legs in his life! Did that make him sound clinically insane, because he felt a little bit so.

 

“Your highness, I hear you like football,” he finally heard from none other than the world’s worst person. Okay Miles wasn’t all that bad in reality, but the competitive nature of their situation and the fact that Miles didn’t seem to have any semblance of a filter when it came to telling his accomplishments magnified everything he did.

 

The King nodded, “been an Arsenal supporter my whole life.” That seemed to open the conversation to Louis, and Harry locked eyes with him as if to say _your turn,_ but he needed to be drunk in order to pretend to support the Gunners in any capacity whatsoever, so he downed his glass again.

 

A little smile played on Harry’s lips and Louis felt a little better about the fact that he was getting publically drunk in front of a monarch (two if you counted Harry). The King’s eyes went wide and Louis knew that he’d blown any chance to gain the King’s affections.

 

They stayed a while longer, and Louis knew full well by then that there was no point in trying to get into the conversation with the impression that he had made, and it was also more than likely that he wouldn’t make it through the week because of it. Also, word would get back to the Queen quite quickly that he was a drunk and she would cancel their tea date, and Louis had been looking forward to that. The King probably had a very large say in who became his successor’s husband and he certainly wouldn’t pick one who looked like he had a drinking problem.

 

Then a woman pointed to her watch and they were ushered out of the salon and told they would return to their rooms for the night. Louis couldn’t help but sigh as he started off on his walk.

 

Before he could even exit the sitting room, someone tapped on his shoulder and Louis whipped around to see Prince Harry with his hair tousled to the side and his suit jacket hanging over his arm. “Can I walk you back?” he asked, and Louis’ heart sunk. He wasn’t even going to make it to the end of the week! Harry was going to break it to him as easily as he could that it would be best if Louis went home before morning, wasn’t he? Well, it had been nice while it lasted.

 

They started to walk, and Louis thought that he could never have been a Prince anyways. He was meant for real life, like Zayn had said. He was meant for Yorkshire. He wasn’t meant to see the world the way that it was here: bursting with colour at the seams so that sometimes everything was overwhelmingly bright. Just like Zayn had said, he needed to remember what the real world was like before he forgot it completely.

 

“You really do like football, right?” Harry asked as they turned a corner towards the West wing, “Like I wasn’t making that up.”

 

That was what Harry wanted to talk about? That he liked football? He wasn’t sure how that was going to lead to him letting Louis down easy and sending him home, but he followed along all the same, “I do, yeah. I’ve always been a big fan.”

 

“There’s a match this weekend,” Harry told him as they reached what Louis recognized as the hallway before his own. “And we have box seats to Emirates Stadium, so maybe you’d want to go with me? It’s against Man U.”

 

That was a date, wasn’t it? Like a solo, one-on-one, us only sort of date. _Oh my god!_ “I-uh, yeah for sure. I’d love to,” Louis tried to stay as calm as he could. “As longer as you’re okay with me supporting the other team.”

 

Harry giggled, “My father said that you probably weren’t a Gunners fan.”

 

That was a significantly better review from the King than he was expecting. If he was honest, he was nearly ready to be arrested, but simply being pegged as an Arsenal hater wasn’t all that bad –it was true, after all.

 

They approached Louis’ door and stood still in front of each other, waiting. “I’ll see you on Saturday then,” Harry started, “well, I’ll see you earlier but you know, just you –Saturday.”

 

Louis nodded, and it all seemed set in stone, but neither made a move to leave. The cameras had gotten every possible shot of them entering the hallway together and had since left them alone. The whole palace seemed to fall silent as they stared at each other. Harry’s eyes flipped to his lips then back to his face and Louis wondered for a second if he would kiss him. He couldn’t!

 

Harry leaned in closer, and Louis could feel his breaths over his cheeks. He smelt just the slightest bit of alcohol, and Louis thought he would get more than drunk off of Harry himself. He couldn’t kiss him! Could he?

 

Then, Harry stood up with a jolt. “Saturday,” he promised, and scurried off towards the stairs.

 

_Fuck._

He found himself at Zayn’s door not a moment later, giddy to tell him what had happened. He was so excited in fact, that he didn’t bother to knock and instead pushed straight into the room without another thought.

 

“Oh god,” he exclaimed as a hand flew to his mouth and his eyes shut so as not to see any more of what he had just witnessed.

 

There, on the bed in front of him was Liam Payne, West Midlands completely naked atop an equally naked Zayn.

 

Louis wasn’t at all prepared to react to his friend having sex with a man who was not the one they were all meant to be marrying, but it seemed that Zayn was no more ready to. He pushed Liam off of his with force and pulled the covers up to cover himself with eyes wide and not a word spoken.

 

“Uh, hi Louis,” Liam said as he pulled his boxers on from off the floor. His cheeks had gone pink, but his puppy dog image had disintegrated as soon as he started to fuck Louis’ best friend in the competition. _What had Zayn been thinking!_

 

“I’m going to go,” Louis whispered and pulled the door closed behind him. He didn’t know what to do with himself. His only friend was fucking another contestant! Did he tell an advisor? Did he tell Harry? Did he tell the Daily Mail? Okay he definitely wouldn’t tell the Daily Mail, but any other person was an option and he wasn’t sure which was right.

 

Zayn would get kicked off if he told anyone, and maybe it was Louis being selfish but he needed Zayn with him. He couldn’t tell anyone, because he needed Zayn. So now he was stuck in a lie. Great.

 

***

 

“Can we talk?” Zayn asked when Louis pulled the door open late that night. He’d figured Zayn would want to talk about it, if only to beg that Louis didn’t tell anyone.

 

Louis held the door back and let Zayn into his room. The boy took a seat on his bed and looked up solemnly. “I’m sorry you had to see that, and now you have to figure out how to deal with it and I want you to know that I’ll understand whatever you decide to do.”

 

“How long?” Louis asked, because in all honesty that was all he wanted to know. How long had Zayn been breaking the rules to sleep with Liam Payne and how long had he been keeping it from Louis. They hadn’t even been at the palace for all that long!

 

“A couple of days.”

 

“And that’s why you’re ready to leave now?” Louis pressed on, “You’ve already found your man?”

 

Zayn’s brows furrowed down over his eyes, “I haven’t found my man! He’s just a guy, Louis.”

 

“Well he must be good enough to throw all this away for.”

 

Zayn sighed. “I’m not throwing anything away. He’s just a bit of fun is all.”

 

“If you don’t give a shit about him, why are you fucking him?”

 

Zayn threw himself back onto the bed, but his eyes still stayed locked onto Louis’ and he could tell that Zayn was growing angry with him. “Because I’m young and attractive and I’m doing what young and attractive people do! Not all of us have royal sceptres stuck up our arses!”

 

“I haven’t got a sceptre up my ar-“

 

“Well you certainly don’t have a dick up your arse!” Zayn snapped, “Maybe you’d lighten the fuck up if you did.”

 

“Fuck off Zayn!” Louis spit back. He’d struck a nerve and Louis had broken any dam of emotion he had built up. There wasn’t anything more he had to say to him. “Have fun with your shitty life. I’ll be here, enjoying life outside of fucking Yorkshire!”

 

Zayn shot him a look that made it seem as if he was sickened by his words. Like he had realized that Louis wasn’t the sort of person he had thought he was, and maybe Louis wasn’t. The worst parts of him had come out in the palace. His jealous side, his angry side, parts of him that he didn’t even know existed. He’d grown up just like Zayn, and now he thought he was all high and mighty because some Prince had taken a liking to him. Louis was disgusted with himself. Who was he?

 

The door shut and a tear ran down his face without his consent. Then two more joined and so forth until his cheeks had rivers of salty water flowing down them and he was gasping for air. His body shook in waves and the room felt impermeably cold as shivers wracked his bones. He wanted to go home. He wanted his mummy to cuddle up with him and wipe his tears before they could fall off the tip of his chin and onto his clothes. He wanted her to tell him how to fix this. He wanted to fall asleep to the sound of his sisters’ slow breaths and he wanted to wake up to watery coffee and busy people and the de-saturated world he was so used to.

 

The white of his ceiling was too white and it was hurting his eyes. The night outside was too dark and he was scared. The light above him was too bright and he felt like a moth drawn to a flame. He certainly didn’t feel like Louis Tomlinson.

 

 

The phone rang too many times as he stood outside. The wind beat his t-shirt over his shoulders and his fingers were frigid but he couldn’t be inside a moment longer.

 

“Mum?” he whispered when it stopped ringing. He hoped it wasn’t Lottie, or his father or anyone who wasn’t his mummy.

 

“Lou,” his mum’s soft voice echoed through the phone and Louis he never been so relieved to hear anything in his life. “Darling,”

 

A fresh set of sobs overtook him and he had to grasp the railing of the balcony to steady his shakes. “I don’t know if I can do this any longer, Mum,” he admitted, a tear falling from his chin.

 

“What’s gone wrong love?” his mum asked calmly, but he could tell in her voice that she was growing worried.

 

“I did a bad thing,” he said quietly, conscious that anyone with their balcony door open could hear him. It felt like he was always being watched here, whether it be by cameras, or advisors, or other competitors. He felt on edge at every moment. At home he had always felt the same too, with the constant fear of someone discovering that he was gay. But if he went home now, everyone would know and there would be no more hiding. There would still be fear, though. “I think I should come home.”

 

His mum sighed through the phone and Louis could tell she was about to give him a lecture of a sorts. “Do you really want to come home, or do you think that you have to?” she started off, and Louis knew she was right. Just an hour or so ago he’d been over the moon about Saturday, and now he wanted to give up every opportunity he had. “I know you’re doing well Louis, and it looks like you really like him. Do you?”

 

“I do.” Louis nodded, “I really, really do.”

 

“Then why would you want to throw it all away?” She was easily right. “You have an opportunity here Louis, one that the rest of us can only dream of. If the Prince was a right idiot, I’d tell you to come home right this instant, but you seem interested, and you should at least see where it goes. If he’s a creep, I’ll come pick you up myself, but you can’t leave it this early on.”

 

“You’re right,” Louis conceded.

 

Mum laughed, “When am I not?” the two shared a giggled then, “Now get to bed, it’s getting late and I’m sure you have a busy day of flirting ahead of you.”

 

“That’s not what it’s like!” Louis insisted, despite the fact that it actually was quite a lot like that. There were a lot of forlorn looks across busy rooms and forced laughter and avoided eye contact from everyone involved. Louis had to admit, it felt a lot like school all over again –except Louis was actually interest in who he was looking at forlornly and didn’t have to take Eleanor Calder to prom. “I’m actually having tea with the Queen tomorrow afternoon. We’re going to sew together.”

 

His mum let out a single loud laugh as if she had burst out and slapped a hand over her own mouth. “You’ve become proper posh haven’t you!” she exclaimed and a smile finally ghosted over his face. “Since when could you sew anyways?”

 

“Since yesterday. The Queen taught me herself.”

 

“Imagine that!” she exclaimed again and then her voice got far away as if she’d pulled the phone from her ear, “ _Lottie! Lou’s learned to sew from the Queen!”_ and Louis could hear Lottie’s familiar chuckle if he listened very close. “Why would you want to leave when you get to have actual tea with the Queen tomorrow!”

 

“I’ve got a date Saturday, too.” Louis admitted, feeling a little embarrassed to tell his Mum this. “Harry is taking me to the football game.”

 

“Oh he’s _Harry_ now, is he?” she teased. “ _Louis’ got a date!”_ she yelled off towards Lottie again. “Don’t scare ‘im off with your enthusiasm, yeah?”

 

“I’ll try my best. I already told him I’m cheering for Man U.”

 

“Is he a big football fan?” she asked, “I happen to remember a rather poor showing of skill in one of the features last week.”

 

Sometimes Louis forgot that everyone in England saw nearly everything that he did in the selection. Sure they didn’t see the little moments: the ones where friendships were made and lost, the ones where things nearly happened, the ones where boys played absolutely terrible piano for far longer than they were supposed to. Louis liked to think that he was the only person who would see all of it. There was something intimate about the selection when the cameras turned off. When it stopped being a competition and became real life.

 

“I don’t think Harry has any interest in football at all.” Louis told her. He’d always gotten the sense that he was the type to think more of kits than of strategy or trade rumours. “But he’s got the royal box seats for us. ‘Reckon it’ll be the best game I’ve ever been to.” In reality, Louis hadn’t been to all that many football games in the first place, because money had to be used for things less superfluous like food, but he’d been to enough to know what was a good seat and a bad seat (he’d certainly been in enough bad ones).

 

“See, you can’t come home if you’re going to sit in fancy seats in Emirates and be all love-y dovy with Prince Harry,” it wasn’t his mum that time. It seemed that some time between his last comments and now, his mother had passed the phone to Lottie and now he was in a rather uncomfortable conversation with his little sister.

 

“I’ve got to sleep, Lots’. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Love you and mum both,” He told her as he tried his best to dip out of the conversation as quickly as possible. He knew Lottie would only tease him and make crude comments about Harry and his non-existent sex life. Come to think of it, she and Zayn would actually get on quite well.

 

Oh, Zayn.

 

***

 

Being invited to the apartments of the Queen was a massive honour. Louis knew that. What he didn’t know was where the fuck they were. A note had been sent to his room early that morning to request his presence at 3pm for tea, but it seemed that everyone had jut assumed that Louis would find his way through this massive palace without any sort of help.

 

He’d left what he thought was sufficiently early, but he’d been wandering through the upper floors of the palace without any sense of direction for nearly twenty minutes now and the clock was beginning to tick dangerously close to 3 o’clock. The trouble was that the entire building looked exactly the same, with the same vaulted ceilings and fancy panelled walls and art in gold frames, that there was no way to know whether Louis had been in a hallway before or was now in the complete wrong place. Even the art, which Louis had been relying on until then, looked too similar to properly differentiate. So he wandered through the halls aimlessly, hoping that by some miracle he would end up in front of the apartments. The trouble was that there was no way to be able to tell if he was in front of them. It wasn’t like there were signs in front of every room: this was a home after all.

 

Maids rushed past him and through hidden doors towards the servant’s wing, but ignored him completely whenever he tried to ask them for directions. He even saw Mary Ellen swerve around him –the bitch. Honestly, he should have been given a map of this place on arrival. A pair of women rushed past him with two dresses in their hands and took off down a staircase towards what Louis figured was the seamstress’ room. Was he invisible?

 

Then Louis thought about the fact that all of a sudden these people had to deal with 34 more people than they used to. The inhabitants of the palace used to be 3 and now it was over thirty. He kind of understood why the employees wanted nothing to do with him. But if one of them could just point him in the direction of the Queen’s room that would be really helpful, then they could go back to passive aggressively ignoring him for the rest of his time here.

 

“You look lost,” Perrie said as she passed by him and Louis had never been so thankful to see anyone ever. She had a parcel under her arm and three shopping bags on the other labelled Gucci, Prada and Versace respectively. Louis had a feeling they were for him and an uneasiness settled into his stomach as he realized that all the clothes he’d been wearing thus far must’ve been outrageously expensive.    

“I’m meant to meet the Queen in three minutes and I haven’t a single clue where her apartments are.” Louis told her and Perrie’s bright blue eyes went wide.

 

“Well, we’d better get a movin’ if you intend to get to the other side of the palace in three minutes.” She grabbed his wrist with the arm holding the parcel and started to march them back the way that Louis had come. He vaguely recognized the painting of people eating a picnic down by a river and a rather hilarious portrait of a corgi beside it.

 

She rushed them up to the third floor, and through a series of winding halls that all looked just as similar as the ones downstairs had. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Louis was aware that Harry’s room was somewhere on this floor and he couldn’t help but wonder what it looked like. Harry seemed like the sort to be interested in interior design, so it was probably incredibly stylized but Louis wondered if he was a clean person. Did he have piles of expensive suits on his floor, or did he fold them all with the utmost care? Louis would be sure to find out, if he ever had the opportunity to see the inside.

 

They stopped in front of a non-descript white door –the sort that Louis would’ve walked straight past if he had found it himself. He didn’t know if he was meant to knock. Was it rude to knock for the Queen to respond? Surely it was ruder to barge into her room.

 

Perrie let out an exasperated sigh, “ _for god’s sakes,”_ she whispered under her breath before knocking loudly on the door.

 

Queen Anne opened the door with a smile, a beautiful silk dress draped around her and a tiara make of glittering diamonds and sapphires adorned her mahogany hair. Seeing her without the entourage of advisors she had carried into the women’s room melted much of her intimidation factor. Here, Louis could imagine that she was only the mother of his boyfriend, a kindly woman who was just as happy to see him as he was to her. She ushered him into the room with a hand and he was able to take a moment to look at the vast and beautiful room. The ceiling was vaulted and so purely white that Louis’ eyes hurt when he stared too hard at it. The walls were a light mint, and looked both regal and homey in a combination he couldn’t quite fathom. Every chair and sofa was covered in shimmering satin in embroidered floral patterns with gold trim and dark wood frames. Above him, a massive chandelier painted gold hung with actual candles burning in its hold and the flames bounced off the hanging crystals below them to cast sparkling shadows onto the walls so that the whole room looked semi-magical. By one of the sofas, a man wearing white gloves stood with the teapot in his hands and a smile on his face. Louis liked to think that he could get used to living so lavishly.

 

***

The rest of Wednesday and all of Thursday passed quickly, but agonizingly. Zayn avoided him like the plague and every time he passed by Liam, the boy looked like he wanted to drop to his knees and beg for Louis’ forgiveness. Still, Louis felt constantly at fault.

 

The elimination was in the afternoon on Friday as it had been the week before. This time Louis wasn’t nervous in the slightest, after all he was going on a date with Harry tomorrow afternoon, so there wasn’t any way he was going home. He was nervous for others, though. The logical part of him knew that there was very little chance for either Zayn or Liam being found out by anyone who wasn’t him, but he needed Zayn there –even if he wouldn’t speak to him. And a tiny part of him hoped that this would be Miles’ last week, even if it seemed unlikely.  

 

In the end, four names were announced, all of which Louis had never heard of: Jonathan Yates, Jeremiah Smith, Jack Nixon and Owen Weber all left in varying levels of crestfallen and Louis heard the entire room collectively sigh as the last one left the studio with tears welling in his eyes. At least Zayn was safe. Even if Miles was too.

 

***

 

Night had fallen over the palace when a knock came quietly on his door. Louis sighed, assuming it was Zayn, perhaps Liam to beg him not to tell. Truly the last thing he wanted now was to talk about it any further, but there was an inevitable second conversation to be had.

 

He’d changed into a pair of uncomfortable sweat pants –Louis was pretty sure they had cost far more than proper sweats were meant to- and a grey t-shirt. He hoped the cameras had cleared out of the hall by then, because it definitely wasn’t the broadcast-able image of the Louis they were trying to build. He’d taken the gel out of his hair, so it was falling over his forehead and he felt a little bit dumb.

 

Contrary to what he’d expected, it wasn’t Zayn in front of his door. It was Harry. He was still in the suit he’d worn that night at the elimination: a dark purple number with vaguely Japanese images adorning the entire fabric.

 

He looked nervous, with his fingers tipping impatiently at his thigh and he wouldn’t meet Louis’ eyes for a while after he opened the door. “I don’t know why I’m here, really” he admitted, still he wouldn’t look up through his mane of hair to see Louis. ‘I just -I wanted it to be just us, you know? If that’s okay with you.”

 

Louis wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to, or what needed to be between them, but his heart quickened at the sound of Harry’s low voice.

 

Then, Harry surged up and his mouth was pressed to Louis’. His lips were warm and wet with a purpose behind them and he pulled Louis’ face upwards his with both hands on the sides of his face. It wasn’t Louis’ first kiss, not even close, but it felt different than any kiss Louis had shared before. Harry kissed with earnestness and a feeling of absolute devotion, as if Louis was the only person in the entire world. It made Louis’ stomach squirm. His fingers burrowed into Harry’s hair and he had to lift himself onto his tiptoes to reach Harry fully.

 

He’d never been aware of how much taller Harry was until he was pressing his chest into Harry’s upper abdomen and still too short on his tiptoes. He couldn’t help but find it a little bit attractive that Harry was so much larger than him; like he could envelope all of him under his massive wingspan or carry Louis places with the strength of his biceps and thighs.

 

Harry walked him back into his bedroom without a word and kicked the door closed behind them. Louis didn’t know how far they were going to go, but he honestly didn’t care. He just wanted as much of Harry as he could have.

 

Harry’s hands moved slowly but surely down do rest lowly on his hips at the swell of his arse. At that moment, they broke for a second with heavy breaths into the other’s mouth as if they hadn’t taken a single breath in all that time –if Louis was honest, he wasn’t sure he’d actually been breathing.

 

“I should go,” Harry breathed quietly, but non-committal as he licked his way back into Louis’ mouth. His fingers came to play at the hem of Louis’ shirt, but made no move to change where it was.

 

“You should,” Louis said nearly straight into his mouth. As he spoke, he pushed Harry’s jacket off his shoulder and let it fall to the floor behind him. Part of him knew that that was probably uncomfortably expensive and that it shouldn’t be on the floor, but a much larger part of him wanted to get every item of clothing off the prince as quickly as he could.

 

He made quick work of the buttons of his blouse and let it fall into the growing pile of Harry’s clothes just as Harry pulled his own t-shirt over his head and turned the pile of his clothes into a pile of _their_ clothes. Even such a little thing felt so intimate when it came to Harry. This could be his life forever. He could spend his whole life with Harry. _God._

 

Harry walked him back until his knees buckled as they hit his bed and he was forced to sit in front of him. Harry bent down to kiss him still just as hard as he always had, but now with more variation. It seemed all of his nervous energy had dissipated into heavy passion. If this was how Harry always kissed, _sign him up._

 

He sucked a hickey onto Louis’ chest, low enough that any shirt he wore the following days would cover it, but he and Harry would know it was there and there was something indescribably sexy about that. Everything Harry did was sexy!

 

“I need to go,” Harry finally said, pulling himself safely out of the range of Louis’ neck and staring down with darkened green eyes. Louis finally got a good look at his smooth chest and dark tattoos. His thick arms and toned stomach were hard and strong but Louis also wanted to burrow his head into them and breathe in the smell of Harry’s cologne forever.

 

“I’ll, uh, see you tomorrow.” Louis finally said once he had caught his breath.

 

Harry nodded, a smile playing over his lips and pulled Louis up to standing by his shoulders. He gave Louis another chaste but firm kiss before leaning back to look at him for a moment. “That was a first kiss of this whole thing, you know.”

 

And Louis did, because he was sure he would have heard about it if it had been anyone else. “If I have it my way, there won’t be anyone else.” He joked, or at least tried to joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments make my heart happy! 
> 
> Reblog the fic post [ here ](https://mcssymon.tumblr.com/post/164926517625/like-water-over-fire-like-water-on-fire-by)


	5. Week 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm back. 
> 
> Quick thing, if anyone knows and/or is an artist or manip marker, I'm writing this fic that kind of needs tons of multi-media and I have no artistic skill. Thanks!

The feeling of a football pitch was one of Louis’ favourites. Whether he was on it or above it, looking down at the beautifully fluid play of a top footballer to another, Louis couldn’t help but adore it. Something about the voices of thousands screaming with so much passion that it whipped the wind up through his air and the stomps of fans so heavy that he could feel it in his lungs as he took bated breaths made him insurmountably happy. It was both calming and exciting in the loveliest way, so both feelings blended together as shades of red and blue merged into a delightful shade of violet, both vibrant and soft. His heart pounding in his chest, but an unavoidably warm feeling flooded his insides like hot team coating his arteries and hot chocolate in his stomach.

 

Harry didn’t seem to feel similarly. Where Louis stood at the very edge of the royal box, just about hanging over the railing, Harry sat quietly in an obtrusively comfy seat just watching the pitch with no excitement whatsoever. Louis figured that he had seen hundreds of more exciting football games in his time. He probably saw the FA Cup final every spring, so a silly league game would be of no interest to him.

 

Louis realized rather unfortunately that he hadn’t spoken to Harry for more than a quick moment that morning. He was probably the worst date ever –although if Harry caught him ogling Ramsey, he might have been a treasonous date. As the first half closed off and the players filed off the field in various states of frustration at the 0-0 stalemate they had arrived at in the first 45 minutes of play, Louis turned to look at Harry properly for the first time that day.

 

He shot Louis a happy smile, which confused him even further. He’d been sat in his chair all afternoon, with a cup of tea to sip on and a group of wait staff to tend to his every need, but he’d never seemed all that happy to be there. Louis had been sure he was bombing the date worse than anyone (including Miles Semen and his silly roses) had before.

 

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Louis asked, because he figured it best to find out when they would be forced to continue their date for 45 minutes longer than when the game had finished and they would be faced with the great question of whether or not they would continue their date into tea or supper.

 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed quite suddenly. He set his cup of tea down on the side table and motioned for Louis to come over. Louis took a seat in the opposing chair. “If you’re enjoying yourself, I’m enjoying myself.” He offered, but Louis knew better than to accept self-sacrificing statements as gospel.

 

“Really though,” Louis pressed, “it seems like you’d like to be anywhere but here.”    

 

Harry shook his head. “Really, it’s just nice to admire someone actually taking joy in something. I’m just enjoying your excitement. It isn’t like Miles was overjoyed by the rose garden. I’m happy that you’re passionate about something.”

 

“Well,” Louis smirked, moving in close enough that their noses just about touched. “you could come be passionate with me.” When Harry makes a face he shoves his shoulder a bit, “c’mon, we’ve got to give them a bit of a show, haven’t we?” he flicked a head towards the full row of photographers just across from them, not to mention the hundreds of people whose phones had been trained on them since the game had begun, hoping to take the photo the whole of England was holding their breath to see: The Prince’s first kiss of the selection. Little did they know, the kiss had already been awarded.

 

“What’s wrong with admiring you?” Harry offered. His heat penetrated through the skin of Louis’ neck as his words dripped into his ear. His words had thickened into sugar syrup and held so much more than they had a moment ago. “You know, I could just kiss you here, so all they get is blurry pictures and cell phone videos” His lips trailed down the shell of Louis’ ear, silky soft as they breathed his quiet words, “But you wouldn’t like that would you? You want the drama of it. Right?”

 

Louis didn’t realize he was nodding until Harry’s low chuckle surrounded his ear drum in his hot breath. Embarrassed, he pushed Harry away with a hand flat on his sternum. “C’mon, they’re about to come back on, and we’ve got football enjoyment to fake. Well –half of us do. You can’t be drinking tea at a football game.”

 

With a hand on his wrist, Louis pulled him to the edge of the balcony just as the players streamed back onto the field. “What do you expect me to drink at a football game?” Harry asked, less sultry now and more bumbling, charming Harry. He faked resistance as Louis pulled him as hard as he could.

 

“I don’t know, something more royal and expensive. Champagne, maybe.” Louis shrugged, already enthralled as Man U stretched out, ready for the second half.

 

“You want Champagne?” Harry asked.

 

“No I-” Louis started.

 

“Champagne, please!” Harry yelled back to no one in particular, but Louis was sure that a whole team of people was now scrambling to get Prince Harry the very best champagne that Emirate Stadium had to offer.

 

“You’re going to make me look like a right git in the papers.” Louis sighed, “I can see them now: Gold Digger!  Louis Tomlinson, South Yorkshire, Insists on Champagne at a FOOTBALL GAME!”

 

“Oh please,” Harry scoffed, “there isn’t anything wrong with liking nice things. You think I wear 4,000 pound bespoke suits because they make me? Hell no. If you wanted champagne infused with gold and diamond flakes, I’d find a way to get it to you.”

 

“Do they even make that?” Louis asked, laying his head onto his arms as they laid on the railing, the wind rustled through his hair and the cold of metal soaked through his cheek.

 

Harry leaned his back on the railing, facing away from the game. “I’m sure they would for the Prince of England.” He cast a disinterested look over the field below him before looking back at Louis.

 

“It must be nice,” Louis thought aloud, “just going through life getting whatever you want whenever you want it.” The game was in full swing below them, and he could feel the blood pumping through his veins as the ball was passed lightning fast through the agile feet of professional players. The crowd pulsed with cheers and jeers from every side and every colour as the game wore on.

 

“It has its perks,” Harry shrugged. “It’s a good life, but it’s a stressful one at that. I reckon it’s only fun when you don’t have any responsibility attached to your name. Like right now I do whatever I’d like. I go out when I want, I’m friends with whoever, I buy what I’d like. Hell, I studied anthropology in Uni just ‘cus I could!” 

 

“I hadn’t realized you’d gone to Uni at all,” Louis mused absently.

 

“It wasn’t the proper way. They had someone come to the palace to take care of it,” Harry shrugged, his mouth twisting in a way that seemed to convey it was still a point of suffering in his life. “Will you go? If -you know,” he asked, walking around the tricky egg shell of whether or not they were going to get married. It struck Louis as strange that his marital status come Christmas was a tricky topic. He was eighteen, and only a couple of weeks ago the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind.

 

“No,” he replied. “There isn’t the money for it. Or the time, honestly.” Louis didn’t have three years to squander in a university somewhere far away from his family when they could be spent doing something useful. In all this luxury and decadence, it was easy to forget that at home it was about getting by. Here, one might entertain the idea of studying something completely superfluous just because they found it interesting, but that kind of life wasn’t waiting at home in his little two bedroom home.

 

“Would you want to?” Harry pressed on, “If the time was right and it was all set?”

 

“I guess,” Louis lamented, “I mean, it isn’t as if anyone would give up a bachelor’s degree if it was presented to them. I don’t know what I’d study though. I was never much for subjects that make you any money.”

 

Harry laughed, “you could always study Anthropology, I hear it’s the gateway to great fortune now-a-days,” he joshed Louis’ shoulder a bit as he said it, absentmindedly, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that they were touching.

 

The crowd roared and Ozil was running around the corner flag as if he might take flight. “Bloody hell,” Louis cursed as the scoreboard changed from 0-0 to 0-1. “If your godforsaken team wins I expect a consolation gift. “

 

“In what form?” Harry asked, “I figure I should ask now so I can start making arrangements for when I win.” A smirk graced his lips and Louis kind of wanted to whack him over the head.

 

A woman with a tray presented the two of them with two flutes of glittering gold liquid and now Louis wanted to whack Harry over the head with a champagne flute.

 

“I want a plane to fly over the palace and write ‘I’m sorry I’m a prick,’ into the sky.”

 

“I think the airspace above the palace is a no-fly zone, but I’ll do my best.”

 

Louis took a sip of his champagne, only to be greeted by a syrupy sting down his throat and bubbles bursting violently on his tongue. “Champagne is a bit gross,” he mused.

 

“What would you prefer?” Harry asked, seriously at first, but then his mouth cracked into a sly smile as he offered, “Capri Sun? Kool-aid?”

 

“You actually are a prick!” Louis gasped, pushing on Harry’s shoulder. He let himself be shoved back, but Louis could feel the strong muscles in his upper arm tense.

 

“You’re cute,” Harry smiled into his eyes and straight through to his heart. With little hesitation he was leaning into Louis’ mouth until he could feel his heat, and then until his breath hit Louis’ mouth and chin, and then until the wet of his mouth pressed against Louis; and mixed their wind chilled lips with hot breath.

 

The clicks on cameras all around were chillingly audible, so much so that Louis could feel his cheeks growing red with embarrassment. Still, he let Harry kiss him some more, because the feeling of his hand on Louis cheek and his pulse beating quick through his jersey was enough to soothe his pounding heart.

 

Harry pulled back just enough that his lips still rested against Louis’, but they were no longer entwined in each other’s tongues and lips. “We’re causing quite a scene.” He stated, “but it’s kind of fun isn’t it.”

 

Harry was right, it was damn fun to be the centre of attention. In reply, Louis only surged up again to kiss him some more. Harry set his flute onto the railing, and without tearing himself away from Louis’ lips, he took its partner out of Louis’ fingers. He reached around to grab onto Louis’ waist, all the way around with just one of his arms, and had they not been in such an intimate position, Louis would have stopped to make a joke about him having the arms of a gorilla. He pulled Louis slowly towards him, enough that they were touching torso to torso completely flush against the other, but slow enough that they cameras wouldn’t see the change. It was probably to early to pull a man against him, and the kiss probably should have been more chaste. One that was harder to catch, so that photos of it that weren’t blurry would sell for more. Now, everyone in the entire arena probably had a worthy one.

 

“I’m going to get in so much trouble for this,” Louis said as he pulled away, eyes downcast. He could still feel Harry’s thick breath warming his windswept hair.

 

“Why’s that?” Harry asked as he brushed little wayward strands from where they were stuck to Louis’ cheek with the force of the wind.

 

Louis wanted to say that Zayn would freak out at him, but Zayn wouldn’t even look at him, let alone tease him for effectively fucking the prince in the middle of a football game. “I think somewhere in the rules it said, ‘Don’t make out with the Prince on your first date’”

 

Harry laughed and leaned in to whisper into Louis’ ear. “I make the rules. It’s my game isn’t it?”  and as he pulled away, he cast a look up to the jumbo-tron only to find their faces projected on every screen. “Popular aren’t we.”

 

“Selection mania,” Louis shrugged. Some small part of him begged for the attention.

 

“Just wait ‘til tours start up again next week. Those tourists won’t even be listening to their audio guides, just holding them up to their ears while they search every corner for a glimpse at the future Prince of England.” Harry said _future Prince_ a little too personally for Louis’ taste, his heart panging painfully in his chest. There were still 29 boys left in the competition, all of whom had just as much chance at it as he did. 

 

Louis furrowed his brow, “It must be a bit strange to live in what is effectively a museum.” His brain couldn’t help but supply an image of tour groups walking through the palace as _his home_. To watch people from the corner of his eye as they travelled through the halls of the palace with their running shoes and cargo pants and cameras clicking back and forth across the perfect facades of the palace halls. He wasn’t sure he liked the idea of having to sneak through his own home so as not to be spotted by people beyond eager to take his photo. It seemed wrong to corner someone in their most vulnerable place.

 

“I’ll be honest with you,” Harry said quietly, mindful of the onlookers leaning in further and further to catch their words as they floated off the balcony. “It was really quite a lot of fun. When I was little –little enough for them to still think it cute- I’d toss little bits of paper down from the second floor staircase with crude messages. They weren’t allowed up the stairs, although tourists often try to sneak off and explore, so they’d just have to laugh at me from the hall and pretend they weren’t annoyed with me. After all, I was royalty, and people still think they can get arrested for saying a bad word about my family.”

 

“And now?” Louis asked, conscious of the fact that Harry had used only past tense to describe his experiences. Judging by the conversation they’d had the first night, only a couple of weeks earlier but now feeling like an eternity, growing older in the palace was harder than being young.

 

Harry shrugged, casting a look over the pitch, “I think all things become less intriguing as you get older,” he said nearly absently as if he was thinking of one specific moment in time. He still looked out over the pitch and away from Louis’ eyes when he began to speak again, “And now I’m not ever in the sorts of places that tours go. I’m nearly always in the residence or in some meeting with world leaders, so it’s hard to catch them.”

 

They stood in silence for a moment, sipping idly at champagne that still stung Louis’ throat like tiny knife wounds as it went down. There was something nice about it, he decided, it just wasn’t how it tasted as it moved towards his stomach. Perhaps it was the moment he sipped it, when it flooded into his mouth like liquid gold, sweet. They both watched the sky and the crowd and the game separately. Louis tried to drown out the click, _click, click_ of cameras and their incessant flash, _flash, flash._

Then words spilt from Louis’ lips than he wasn’t even aware he had been thinking of, “do you think the palace is a good place for children?” He hoped with all he had that the paparazzi hadn’t heard him, the headline already spiraling in his head, _Louis Tomlinson Pressures Prince Harry Styles for BABY not Three Weeks into Selection!_

Harry’s neck whipped around, and Louis expected him to look offended, or perhaps scared, but the moment his eyes lay onto Louis’ his face softened and his shoulders slackened. “No,” he admitted quietly, “I don’t think any public place is any home for a child, but I think it could be, it would just take work that I don’t think my parents were willing to put in.”

 

“What do you mean?” Louis’ eyes search within Harry’s for some secret.

 

“I- uh -,” Harry paused, as if he was about to spit a series of searing words out into the air, but thought better of it just as they reached the top of his throat, right on the edge of slipping onto his tongue, “When I have children, I want to make sure they get to be children like everyone else’s. Like, I want them to be messy and have temper tantrums and I want them to climb into bed with me when they have nightmares.” He paused for a moment again, and Louis feared he’d drop the topic entirely just as he’d begun to smile, instead his smile grew and he let out a far off chuckle, “when I was a kid, I’d always see those beds that are shaped like boats in story books and I wanted one more than anything, but my maids and my mum said it wouldn’t go. I want my kid to have one of those, and I’ll put it in the palace and show it to everyone so they can see that it doesn’t go with the furniture at all, but it makes them happy.”

 

There was something so intoxicatingly lovely about hearing Harry talk about children. He seemed to have thought it all through so thoroughly, like he imagined what it would be like often enough to form vivid images of little princes and princesses pitter-pattering down the marble halls with their shrill little laughs and their sticky hands and their ear-piercing screams when one comes barrelling down the hall into the other. Louis liked that image. He liked the image even more when it included Harry rushing down the steps in that pair of checkered pajama pants to haul the littlest one back to bed.

 

Louis floated up onto his tiptoes and pressed a careful kiss onto Harry’s lips.

 

***

 

Niall came barrelling into his room later that night. So late in fact, that Louis had already changed into his monogrammed pajamas and was doing one final scroll through his Instagram feed before promising himself that he’d sleep.

 

He was fully dressed, sporting a loose white tank top and a pair of black jeans. His hair was tousled in a way that Louis could tell wasn’t bed-head. He’d reached the door out of breath and pushed it open without so much as a knock to pant out “Party.”

 

Louis had sat up at that, “Niall, it’s nearly midnight.”  

 

Niall, calming down as he finally caught his breath, “what better time?” he shrugged but also looked incredibly serious about this opinion. “Up, up!” he’d urged, “we’re all in one of the ballrooms, it’s good fun.”

 

And that’s how Louis found himself swaying through a royal ballroom with Niall Horan, South London, at one o’clock in the morning. Criminal amounts of alcohol pulsed through his veins as Niall swung him around like some kind of made-up waltz done very, very badly. He could hear himself laughing uproariously as they danced, surrounded by similarly rousing couplings of other selected boys unable to keep their joy inside with so much alcohol taking up every ounce of space.

 

It was quite possibly the most fun Louis had ever had. It was a miracle they hadn’t been caught yet, seeing as none of them had made even the tiniest effort to keep quiet in the time they’d been there. Surely in a place with so many people whose job was entirely to make sure nothing suspicious was going on, they should have been caught by now.

 

He wasn’t sure what pace the world was moving at, but it beat in perfect rhythm with the music as Louis moved his hips and raised his hands above his head to sing out the lyrics with all the boys around him. It was euphoric. With the music pulsing through the room, it was easy to forget that this was a competition, with such real stakes. Here, he was just with his friends, or at least his acquaintances, enjoying a night out.

 

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Liam up against a pillar. He held a glass casually in his fingertips, as if he didn’t care whether it stayed in his hand or ended up on the floor. It was hard to hate him, even if he had his lips pressed up to Zayn’s ear, so close that it would be hard to play off if it hadn’t been for the average Blood Alcohol Content of everyone around them. He didn’t care to know what they were talking about, but part of him really wanted to be in their conversation, even just to be acknowledged by the two of them.

 

Perhaps he stared too long, because Niall threw an arm over his shoulder and led him over to where someone had set up a full bar. Ed Sheeran, Suffolk, had taken up bartending, and if Louis had still cared about how his drink tasted, he would have said that he was doing a very good job.

 

“Y’alright Ed?” Niall had asked as he took a long swing of his beer from a glass that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Had Louis been sober, he would have questioned where everything had come from. Surely the palace didn’t keep its alcohol standing in ballrooms at all times of day –just in case someone decided to throw a ball. Come to think of it, they probably didn’t keep the massive stereo system blaring bubble-gum pop and droning club beats either. In hindsight, it would have been easy to figure that something beyond spontaneous dance party was taking place.

 

Still, Louis was just as startled as everyone when the massive wooden doors creaked. Instinctively, everyone took a hasty step away, forming a giant semi-circle in the middle of what used to be the dance floor. Around him, boys seemed to sink into the pillars and walls, as if pretending they hadn’t come to the party would save them their spots here. Maybe it would.

 

Casting a heavy look around the room, Louis noticed one key absence. Miles Seaman hadn’t shown. Hell, the bastard had probably set this all up, just to make the rest of them look bad! _God,_ Louis thought, _he’s annoying, but he certainly isn’t some conniving, evil genius._  

 

He tried not to wince when he noticed Liam pushing Zayn tentatively behind him. It was a little gesture that shouldn’t have bothered Louis quite as much as it did. It wasn’t like he would have liked Liam to protect him, but he didn’t like that Zayn had Liam for everything. To be his friend, his lover, his protector. He didn’t like to feel replaced. That was what it was. He didn’t like that Zayn didn’t need him, and that it was almost like even if he apologized for all those awful things he’d said, Zayn wouldn’t need him back. Louis tried to pretend that he didn’t need Zayn. He’d been trying for days then and it still hadn’t sunk in. Louis needed Zayn in his life, and Zayn would carry on exactly the same as always even if he never saw Louis ever again. Louis’ chest hurt.  

 

He was so wrapped up in everyone around him that if not for the collective gasp, he would have missed Harry entering the room.

 

Everyone fell even more silent than they already had, if possible. A heavy blanket seemed to settle in the air and bear down on the display, suffocating the room in it’s sweltering heat.

 

“Your Highness-” a boy started from somewhere near the front. Louis couldn’t name him, but his tall, blond looks seemed to fit right in with the rest of the group just fine. “We’re so sorry. We’ll, uh, be going to bed now.”

 

Harry’s chin tilted up like he was trying to figure out what Blondie had said. “Why would you do that?” His eyes squinted until they were barely there and his bottom lip pushed out so he looked a bit funny. If it had just been the two of them, Louis would have laughed.

 

“Because, uh,” Blondie looked back at his friends for help, only to find none, “we’re all breaking the rules.” He said, confused as to why Harry didn’t seem to know this obvious fact.

 

“I don’t seem to remember a rule that stated specifically that you weren’t allowed to attend a mid-night impromptu dance party in a ballroom after being invited by an unknown benefactor.” Harry reasoned, and the room seemed to burst into life again as whispers of _“well who invited you?”_ echoed through the room. “Anyways,” Harry said again after letting the room go wild for a moment, “I make the rules.”

 

Louis –even in his inebriated state- remembered Harry saying the same thing earlier that day at the football game. It seemed they could all use a reminder that this was Harry’s game, and no one else’s.

 

“So…” Blondie prompted.

 

“So, my new rule is that this party absolutely has to continue.” Harry chuckled, “after all, I did invite you all.”

 

Then the whispers really did erupt. Everyone seemed to be absolutely thunderstruck that Prince Harry wasn’t a total kill-joy. Everyone except Louis. If there was one thing Louis knew, it was that there wasn’t anything Harry loved more than doing whatever the hell he wanted. He caught Harry’s eye across the room, a little moment for just the two of them in the middle of the ruckus he’d created.

 

Harry just smiled and cocked his head towards the door. Wordlessly, he exited amongst the distraction and Louis followed. As he walked out, Louis prayed that no one followed. Selfishly, he wanted more time with Harry by himself. Perhaps he had already taken more than his portion, but he wasn’t a particularly fair person, so he’d gladly take some more.

 

Harry pushed the door closed behind them as quietly as he could. The music had started again in the ballroom and it seemed no one had noticed the Prince leaving. It was a tad ironic that all these boys who were meant to be singularly devoted to Harry hadn’t even noticed that he’d gone.

 

“Hey,” Harry whispered, his hands coming to hold onto Louis hips and press him back to rest on the cold stone wall behind them. A tiny smile played over his lips, and eyes glowed bright and warm as he stared at Louis.

 

“ _Hey,”_ Louis whispered back just as Harry’s lips came to meet his.  Harry kissed like he acted, quick and passionate. His fingers drew quick circles into Louis’ hips and he kept him affixed to the wall forcefully enough that it was a bit intoxicating. He absently kicked Louis’ legs apart to stand between them and Louis could feel the heat of his thighs against is own. He’d never get over the way Harry kissed, he swore.

 

“How’s your day been?” Harry asked in between kisses. Louis could feel his smile on his own mouth.

 

“What? In the four hours since I last saw you?” he giggled. _Wow, he must be drunk._ Still he wove his fingertips through the curly curtain of Harry’s hair and pulled him back into his mouth for another kiss. “Well, I was all ready for bed, when some twat decided to throw a party that I absolutely _had_ to go to because apparently he makes the rules around here,” he joked.  

 

“Seems like a prick,” Harry laughed against his lips, “I hope you don’t go snog ‘im.”

 

Louis pulled him back again to kiss him properly, slipping his tongue into Harry’s mouth as he did, letting Harry return the same. Carefully, he explored the inside of Harry’s mouth, in between long presses against his lips. Just in the slightest way, Harry’s fingers found the underside of his t-shirt and settled against the skin of his hips like searing coals.

 

Harry pulled away after a few minutes, “come to think of it,” he said as he searched through his pockets to pull out a little box. Louis thought that perhaps he should tell Harry to quit buying him presents, but he also really loved gifts. He pushed the velvet into Louis’ fingers. “I was right about the palace being a no-fly zone. So I figured this was probably the next best thing.”

 

Inside was a little metal paper airplane on a chain.  It was a bit kitschy, but Louis loved it. It was perfect. He let Harry put the chain around his neck and then tucked the necklace inside his t-shirt, so that the rest of the boys wouldn’t see it when they ventured back into the ballroom. He wanted it to be a little private thing for the two of them.

 

The party bounced on all right, even as the sky turned a rich shade of purple and then a royal blue, until strokes of orange and pink lit up the edges of the sky’s canvas and the day streamed in steadily, the party wore on. Even when Louis started to feel more hung over than drunk, the music kept pounding and he kept dancing. By the end of the night, Harry had made his rounds to every boy, shaking his hips and bouncing on his heels in front of all of them. Every time Louis caught his eye from over the shoulder of Niall or Ed, he’d be met by a bright toothed smile and something cheeky in Harry’s eyes.     

 

Louis went to sleep that morning with a brand new coolness around his neck, a warmth somewhere in his insides making his all mushy and cozy, and a smile so wide that his cheeks ached.

 

***

 

Monday was a free day, something about Harry being in meetings all day and there being no activity planned. Over the last couple of weeks, Louis had had the most trouble with free days. Having to spend the day with twenty other men in the light of cameras and palace hands was somehow more doable than being left to his own devices in the seemingly endless palace.

 

Many of the boys ventured out into the rose garden to catch the wavering heat of summer just before it gave way to fall. From his place at the window in the women’s room, he could see them lying with their shirts off, trying to golden in the dying rays. Most looked like they’d been bleached white by the blinding sun, the pasty and reflective craters of their chests and abs.

 

Louis could see Zayn out of the corner of his eye if he craned his neck to get around the window frame to see the far side of the garden. He lay in a semi circle of boys, hoisted up on his elbows to look at them through sunglasses he surely hadn’t brought with him. Like a handmaid, Liam was just behind him, more subdued but still present, laughing along to everything being said but barely contributing anything of his own _. Liam was so god damned hard to hate!_

 

Louis hadn’t any interest in allowing all the boys in competition with him to judge the pudge in his stomach, nor did he fancy the idea of having a terrible sunburn on national television. Instead, he’d curled up with another of the palace’s books and enjoyed the warmth of the sun from one of the room’s massive bay windows.

 

He’d picked this one from the bottom shelf, as often the best gems were the ones that people didn’t want you to read. It was bound in beautiful mossy green leather, which was probably the only reason it had been placed in the women’s room to start with. He’d departed from the Viscount and Magritte to join the world of His Lordship, Estella, and Antonia. It was absolute trash, just as the last had been, but where the Viscount had drowned in absolutely syrupy sop, His Lordship seemed to live in a perpetual erotica, going from one woman to another in what seemed to be only a matter of moments.

 

From what Louis had gathered between skipping paragraph after paragraph about _Her Womanhood_ and _Her Virtue,_ His Lordship had long been married to Antonia, a woman of high class and power within her township. Apparently, she was regarded as a great beauty, and from her “hundreds” of suitors, she had picked His Lordship to be her husband. Onlookers say that they had been the most flawless couple, and seemingly so in love.

 

But like all good stories, there must be some problem, mustn’t there. In this case, it is that His Lordship is terribly in love with Estella, the wife of a high ranking military official. _Of course he would be._ They also seem to have the most ridiculously melodramatic sex known to man at every turn. Seriously, every couple of pages Estella is being pushed up against a suit of armour in the throes of passion. Louis hates it, but he also loves it. It’s the sort of terrible, grimy drama that people love to hate on television sitcoms, the sort that makes you feel like you need a shower once you’re done with it because it’s made you question whether there is really any good left in humanity. Louis can’t put it down. Even when Antonia walks into her bedroom one night to find her husband fucking Estella with so much dialogue that it’s hard to believe she hadn’t heard them from the end of the hall. It’s juicy when she screams bloody murder at the sight and hits Estella over the head with a broomstick. It’s addictive when His Lordship chases after his wife out into the gardens with his pants still around his ankles to beg for her forgiveness. It’s heart wrenchingly good when the two of them to agree to stay together to keep up appearances. Most of all, it’s gasp-worthy when it comes to light that Antonia has been sleeping with the military official the entire time!

 

In this fantasy world, it was easy to forget that Louis was living his own version of the story. The question however remained, was he Estella, or Antonia? Either way he ended up being fantastically rich and having uproariously enthusiastic sex at all hours of the day, so he couldn’t find it in himself to care all that much. 

 

***

 

Tuesday, the prince announces a group date, which Louis isn’t invited to. He’d expected as much, seeing as he’d had more than his fill of Harry already, and it was probably best to let a few others have at him before Louis cornered him in a hallway again.

 

While he’s a bit disappointed still, he takes a bit of joy in giggling under his breath at some of the names called. He wonders if King Walker was really named that at birth, because he can’t truly imagine any competent parent seriously naming their child King. Had they had him with the exclusive goal of having him marry royalty? What if he hadn’t been picked for the selection? It would be hard to go through life as a plumber with a name like King.

 

He thinks that no one would seriously name a child something so silly, but he’s proven wrong with the announcement of Wolf Harvey. He vaguely remembered the name from the announcement of the selected, mostly because it was such a funny thing to name someone. Even so, he was fairly certain that there was a boy named Knight here, so by comparison Wolf was nearly as normal as Robert or Harry.

 

Left to their own devices, the rest of the boys have to find a way to busy themselves for the day. All the cameras have left to follow the date, so there isn’t anything holding them back from doing whatever they’d like. Some of them go out to the stables for a ride around the palace grounds, and others sequester themselves away in corners of the women’s room to gossip and drink lemonade and eat little finger sandwiches.

 

Louis fancied himself a day by himself, so he settled into bed and changed back into his pajamas to enjoy a day of doing nothing but reading silly things on his phone and thinking, which he liked to think was the very best sort of day to have. He let a cool breeze flow through the room from the open doors and spent a little while out on the balcony, letting the sun warm his face in the most wonderful way.  

 

He tried his best not to think of what was going on during the date. Really, it wasn’t any of his business, but some little part of his brain had decided that Harry was _his_ already. That little bit of his wanted Harry to be there in his room, sitting on his bed and not anywhere near anyone with a stupid name like King or Wolf or Knight. The rational part of him knew that he’d yet to earn that. So, he pretended that the date simply wasn’t happening at all.

 

Instead he marched to the dining room that night under the pretense that nothing had happened that day except for all of them lazing about with no rhyme or reason. That obviously wasn’t even close to the truth.  

 

The dining room was ablaze with chitchat and whispers. The four boys who had been taken on the date were sitting excitedly at the head of the table, right by Harry. They must’ve arrived early. Louis tried to pretend that he wasn’t at least a little bit upset about the fact that he was forced to sit somewhere lost in the middle. Lost between Benjamin Todd and Sebastian Fairchild. Everyone seemed alight with excitement after the day only four of them had had, and so the whole dining room remained overflowing with noise the whole night. Louis hadn’t meant to opt out as much as he had, but he hadn’t had anything to say to Sebastian’s comments about the chicken or Benjamin’s not-so-witty remarks. They were actually both quite nice boys, and if Louis hadn’t been in such a foul mood, he’s sure he would have had a good time with them. Sebastian especially made so many attempts at making conversation, only to be shut down over and over again when Louis would just nod and take another sip of his water. Louis had half a mind to send him an apology note later that night.

 

When they were discharged, Louis made his way back to his bedroom, put of the exact same set of pajamas he had been wearing all day, and settled back into the exact same spot. Perhaps it was a waste of a day in the palace, but Louis couldn’t help but think of how few and far between days off were at home. He used to work every night but Sunday at the restaurant and even then he’d often pick up an afternoon or brunch shift for the extra hours. Lazing about was a luxury reserved for holidays and sick days. So it really wasn’t a waste at all, it was another one of the fabulous, superfluous features that life at the palace had to offer him.

 

A knock came just after nine, when the cameras would have cleared out of the hall and left the boys to do what they wanted. He hoped it was Harry coming to see him, but knew better than to expect it. If anything, Harry would be visiting one of his other suitors that night, maybe Wolf or King. Or maybe it was Ron Hall, who had never done anything to make Louis upset, nor did he have a stupid name. Louis wouldn’t mind as much if it was Ron Hall.

 

He opened the door to reveal Liam. Fairly expected. He had on his same Liam-esque expression –a mix of puppy dog kindness and parental concern. It was hard to figure out where the concern was directed, whether it was for Louis or himself. His hair had fallen onto his forehead and he looked younger, more boyish than he usually did. He wore a simple blue t-shirt a size too small and roughed up at the collar as if he’d owned it for too long and a pair of sweatpants that were too stiff to be owned by him, but rather most likely a possession of the palace stylists.

 

“Can I come in?” he asked, and Louis just opened the door a little wider.

 

Liam walked like he had somewhere to be. He was more than a little reminiscent of the white rabbit from Alice in Wonderland ( _I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date!)_. He overshot the bed considerably and strode right past the overstuffed chair in the corner, instead he stood, fidgeting by the bay doors out to the balcony. His thumbs twitched at his side, and in turn his leg bounced each time his fingers hit it.

 

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” Louis finally said after a minute or so of watching Liam jerk uncomfortably. “It isn’t any of my business what you do –or don’t do- with Zayn. Just because I think it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean you do.”

 

Liam nodded, militarily. “Thanks,” he said, just didn’t seem quite finished, “I, uh, appreciate that…but it isn’t actually what I came to say.” He paused, but suddenly a flurry of words burst from his esophagus like a flock of birds, “Not that I’m not incredibly thankful that you’re so cool about this ‘cus I figure that most people wouldn’t after all we’re all in this competition and everyone’s trying to even out the playing field as much as they can I mean if I was in your position I don’t know what I’d do like I don’t know if I’d be as cool as you are you know you’re actually really cool Louis and that isn’t even what I came to tell-“

 

“For God sakes Liam, spit it out!” Louis demanded.

 

“Zayn misses you.” Liam sighed, “he’s too proud to admit it, but he’s been a mess since you two had your fight, and I thought that maybe if I reached out you guys would make up.” Louis sighed, he’d said it so many times, but it was always resoundingly true, _it was so damn hard to hate Liam._ That boy was so good willed that it was nearly frustrating. “It’s just,” Liam started again, “I know it’s my fault that you guys are having this disagreement in the first place, and we’ve all got limited time here so there really isn’t time for you to be mad at each other.”

 

“It isn’t your fault Liam,” Louis admitted. “It’s my fault really,” he admitted, as much as it pained him, “we both said some less than lovely things to each other, but I really pushed it. Don’t worry about it, yeah? I’ll get up the courage to apologize soon enough, but I’ve got to cry with my tail between my legs for a little while longer.”

 

Liam let out a half-hearted chuckle, “you know Zayn’s been saying the same things. He thinks he ruined everything with what he said; he doesn’t even remember what you said now.” Well, isn’t that comforting.

 

Louis smiled and pressed a hand to Liam’s shoulder blade to lead him out. “We’ll figure it out, in due time. Thanks for coming though,” he offered.

 

Liam nodded, and shut the door behind him.

 

Louis took a heavy seat on the bed and pulled out his phone to look at his messages. He hadn’t gotten any new ones, but he hadn’t been looking for those. Instead he stared, melancholy, at the screen, He’d only ever texted two people: his Mum and Zayn.

 

The last text from Zayn stared back at him as a terrible reminder of how lovely it had been to have Zayn as his friend. How much fun they had had just the two of them.

 

Zayn: _let’s shake these tossers and go out to the garden_

Louis just wanted another one of those afternoons, when Zayn made terribly crude comments and they got drunk off the sun and the stinging citrus of lemonade. Louis just wanted it all to go back to the way it had been before he said all he had.

 

_“Have fun with your shitty life. I’ll be here, enjoying life outside of fucking Yorkshire!”_

Why had he said that? It had been so easy as it was thrown off his tongue like poison spat from the mouth of a snake. What had willed him to do it? He knew what had done it, but it was so silly, looking back. It would have been so easy to just laugh it off, pretend that Zayn hadn’t hurt him. He didn’t need to hurt Zayn back. Well, hindsight was 20/20, wasn’t it?

 

Carefully, he typed out a message. _I’m sorry for what I said._ He looked at it for a while, scrutinizing the words until they stopped meaning anything in his head and started looking misspelt or perhaps not words at all. He deleted it.

 

He tried again. _Can we talk?_ Again he deleted the message once the words stopped seeming like English.

 

_I want to make it better._ No! _Can we start over again?_ Wrong. _I feel terrible._ Not right. _I don’t give a shit whether or not I end up in the palace or in Yorkshire or in a total shithole, I just want to stop fighting with you._ Too melodramatic. _Keep fucking Liam, for all I care._ Not an apology.

 

Eventually he set the phone down next to his head and settled into bed. A message wasn’t going to strike him that night, and it wouldn’t do him any use to worry about it any longer.

 

***

 

On Wednesday, the tours started again. Louis had been expecting it. In fact, he’d been forced to sit through three hours of media training to prepare for it.

 

All morning, all 29 of them had been sat in the same ballroom they’d partied until dawn in, this time outfitted with little tables and a projector to give them a three hour Powerpoint presentation about the fact that none of them were to speak to the guests of the palace under any circumstances. They were all to pointedly ignore any person who asked them anything (“but not to worry, the tour guides have been told to make sure no one bothers you”). They were briefed on the tour routes and the times when each group would pass which place so they could stay hidden as much as possible (“No entering the library between 2:15 and 2:30 or 4:05 and 4:20”).

 

It felt like the prison Harry had been describing. They’d been made prisoners in their own home, with limited mobility.

 

Louis took Harry’s advice and sat in the residence for most of the day. He wasn’t alone, though. It seemed that nearly everyone had figured it best to sit in the hallway, so he spent the day sat between David Potts and Mason Schneider with his back against someone’s door, letting the frame carve markings into his skin.

 

It was all well and good until he was elected to go down to the kitchens to get snacks and drinks for everyone. Someone suggested they should get a servant to do it, but nearly everyone had awkwardly laughed that off, uncomfortable with the idea of pawning off their needs onto someone who wouldn’t benefit at all from it. That made Louis feel good enough about his company to volunteer to do it.

 

He wasn’t sure where the tours would be then, but it didn’t take him long to find them at the foot of the staircase, snapping pictures like mad and listening closely to the old man guiding them through the palace. It was easy to tell when they saw him. First a teenage girl tugged on her mother’s sleeve and then all of a sudden the entire group was staring at him like the twins from The Shining.

 

Louis froze. He had no clue what to do. Was he meant to wave? Had that been in the Powerpoint? What wasn’t in the Powerpoint was what to do when you were cornered by an entire group at the top of the stairs, and it would be impossible to get to your destination without walking straight through them. It wasn’t as if he could just run away. They’d already spotted him, and no doubt sprinting off like an idiot wouldn’t make good press.

 

“Louis!” someone yelled from the group. Louis tensed even more. He knew he wasn’t meant to talk to them, but what was he meant to do. Ignoring them like he’d been advised would look worse than running, wouldn’t’ it?

 

Instead he just raced down the stairs and jogged off towards the kitchen like a madman. He gave them a little wave as he went. When he reached the kitchen he was so out of breath from his impromptu 400 metre dash that one of the cooks had to rub his back until he got it back enough to ask for chips and cokes.

 

Luckily, by the time he got back to the staircase, the group was long gone. It was the sort of thing that he desperately wanted to laugh about with Zayn, but instead he just spared him a glance from across the hall and Zayn just nodded his acknowledgment.  

 

***

 

It was a slow week mostly. Thursday and all of Friday morning passed lazily as they puttered about from the library to the gardens to the women’s room and back again just in time for afternoon tea. The Prince had been busy in political meetings all week, and had ignored the selection for the most part, save for the group date and nightly supper. Not that Louis had minded. He’d had his time with Harry that weekend, and it was better for him to be doing nothing than doing things with other boys.

 

Louis finished off his latest book. His Lordship ended up with Estella, as their ridiculously enthusiastic sex would have suggested, but Antonia ended up just as happily as the two women switched husbands in favour of men who made them happier. It was a nice ending, but not quite as exciting as the love triangle that made up most all of the book. It was nicer than what Louis had imagined, and that was probably the reason it had ended up in the women’s room in the first place, albeit on the bottom shelf in a corner. Louis wouldn’t be recommending it to his friends at home any time soon, but if Zayn was looking for a good laugh, he’d certainly point it his way.

 

If he and Zayn ever made amends.

 

Louis elected to ignore this for a a few hours more and instead he got dressed and ready for that afternoon’s elimination. Harry hadn’t had all that much time to get to know anyone, so he wasn’t all that sure how he planned to get rid of them. Perhaps he wouldn’t, and this would be the first week where no one went home on Friday.

 

With the help of Perrie and Mary Ellen, they picked him a simple white button down and black pants, forgoing a tie or jacket that time. The goal was always to make him stand out, and if underdressing for the occasion would get the job done, it would be done. Louis didn’t have all that much to complain about though, after all the studio was boiling to death and for once he’d be saved from overheating in a suit jacket.

 

He was wrong about his idea that Harry wouldn’t send anyone home. In fact, it was the biggest elimination since the first day, which Louis figured meant that he was sending home all of his _maybes_ that night. He was finally dropping all the boys that he’d been on the fence about keeping, the ones who could have gone either way when it came to being likable, and he’d needed a while longer the decide if he had any interest in them. Apparently he’d had enough time, and he’d decided that he didn’t want them any longer.

 

Benjamin Todd was the first to be called, and Louis was a bit sad for the first time during an elimination. Ben hadn’t been too fantastic, but he was nice enough, and he’d gladly stumbled through a conversation with Louis at dinner the night before.

 

Then came Clifford Canning, who Louis had never spoken to. Then Cory Fenton and Eric Owen, and finally Cole Lyons. It was sad to see them all go, teary-eyed from the studio as they collected their royal dreams from the floor where Harry had left them. Harry too looked a bit upset as they looked him straight in the eye with their irises blurry with tears and shook his hand or hugged him goodbye.

 

It looked a bit weird to hug him, that Louis made a note of. If you were being sent home, you clearly weren’t close enough with him to have earned a hug of any sort.

 

As he walled back to his room that evening, he realized that the eliminations had made him less nauseous that day. Perhaps he’d settled into a nice safe place, where was had happily sitting pretty in the front of the competition, being the only boy to have earned a kiss. Absently, he fingered the cool metal around his neck, feeling the ridges of his airplane and let out a little giggle as he heard Harry in the back of his mind, _sorry I’m a prick,_ he’d say. Louis felt a bit giddy. All this attention, all for him. It was just so _nice._

He settled into bed, but something kept him tossing and turning through the silk sheets. He tried turning on the bathroom light to let some light in, but then it was too bright. He tried shoving a pillow over his eyes to block out the blinding light, but it was too stuffy. He tried opening the bay doors to let some of the sweltering heat out into the London sky, but then it was too cold. He pulled one of the furry blankets over himself, but then he felt like he might sweat to death.

 

At one point, he thought about calling Perrie to get her to do something about the air conditioning, but he didn’t feel right about waking her up at whatever hour it was. Then he thought about calling Mary Ellen, because he actually didn’t care whether or not she got a good night’s sleep, but that felt wrong.

 

He couldn’t figure out what was plaguing him, so eventually he resolved to take a walk, perhaps tire himself out like a toddler.

 

The palace was a bit eerie at night. And even if he knew that he had every right to wander at any time of day, it felt a bit dangerous to walk down the heavily adorned halls and look up at paintings as if their eyes might be following him or they might change pose behind him. Something about hearing just the slightest whisper of London nightlife out the windows but only the creaking of ancient floorboards inside combined to make Louis feel very alone.

 

He explored the palace without direction. A left here, a right there, up a staircase over there, down a staircase right here. He let himself take in the moulding on the ceilings, some still covered in gold from a time when opulence overtook function and other’s much more plain, from when only servants had the misfortune of being blind from the decadence of royal life.

 

He found himself wandering through the servant’s quarters in the basement. The kitchen was disconcertingly empty, although Louis wasn’t sure what he’d expected at 3am. From down the hall he heard a noise, and nearly jumped out of his socks until he realized it was a laugh. Through the doorway, servants and maids and the cooks were all sat around a table giggling and drinking mugs of what was probably coffee.  

 

Before he could catch the attention of one of them, and break their happy spell to force them back in their jobs and help him, Louis rushed up the stairs back into the palace and back into the residence for fear of finding another person who was free from their job for a couple more hours.

 

Although, in all his rush, he must have made a wrong turn at one point, because soon he found himself in a place that he didn’t know. By this point, he’d become pretty good at navigating, but it seemed that he had never explored anything close to this place, so he made a few testing steps, then a few more, then some more, until he’d taken a couple of turns and found himself more lost than he had started with. At least in the last hallway, he’d had the windows to guide him, now he was surrounded by portraits and blank white wall and no way to tell what was up or down.

 

Then he turned another time, begging it would lead him out to somewhere he recognized, but at least hopeful that he would find some windows.

 

There weren’t windows. There was, however, one rather unfortunate detail. There was Harry, back pressed against the far wall, with his lips against Wolf Harvey’s so desperately that it was like he might drown. Wolf’s fingertips were messing with Harry’s curls and slayed over his jaw to tip it up towards his mouth. He stood looming over Harry like a massive pine in a wood, his legs tucked between Harry’s just like the Prince’s had been between Louis’ a couple of days before.

 

Oh.

 

Louis’ chest hurt. And now his eyes stung, and then his feet were moving without his consent, not caring when the floorboards creaked, and found himself back at the big staircase.

 

Then it was a blur. His eyes were so clouded by water that he honestly had no clue how he got back to the boys’ rooms, but he was there, in front of a room that wasn’t his.

 

Even though it was three o’clock in the morning, he didn’t care. Any semblance of curtesy had gone out the window when he’d seen Harry, who was _his,_ making out more passionately than he ever had with him with Wolf Fucking Harvey. He wasn’t as special as he’d thought, he was nothing. He was just another one of the boys, an option. He wasn’t going anywhere except back to Yorkshire in a couple of weeks when Harry tired of his brand new toy.

 

His eyes stung. The door opened to reveal a sleepy Zayn, with his sweater off centre and revealed his shoulder. He stared at Louis like he wasn’t there, or perhaps that he didn’t believe he was. Then, once he saw Louis’ eyes, he wrapped two arms around his neck and pulled him in for a strong hug.

 

“I’m sorry,” Louis whispered.

 

“I know,” Zayn promised, “I am too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are nice! 
> 
> As an "I'm sorry"/ holiday present, (except it's mostly for me) I have converted my character chart into an interactive webpage so you can all see every single one of the selected boys. 
> 
> Visit it at: [ here ](http://mcssymon.tumblr.com/wateroverfire) or just type is mcssymon.tumblr.com/wateroverfire, I'll be updating it as more chapters are published.


	6. Week 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd just like to thank @undersummerstars and @nottooldforthisship on tumblr for reccing this fic. I nearly died when I saw it

Zayn’s bedspread was black. It had been matte when Louis had climbed into bed, but now it was covered in shiny spots where he’d wiped snot off his nose and tears out of his eyes. Louis made a note to wash it for Zayn when he left –if he ever left.

 

Zayn didn’t ask questions, which was probably for the best, and part of why Louis loved Zayn. He just opened his arms and tucked Louis into bed up to his chin with covers and let him sleep it off. Zayn was nothing if not welcoming to the fullest extent of the word.  

 

Louis overstayed his welcome. By a lot. He realized it when he awoke on Saturday when the light from the hallway hallway. With his eyes barely open, so as not to give away hat he was awake, he could make out Liam’s form in the doorway. Zayn had opened the door. Louis figured he’d be kicked out very soon. Instead, he saw Zayn shake his head.

 

“He’s pretty shook up,” Zayn said, “Not tonight. I’ve got to be with him tonight.”

 

Louis’ heart broke for Zayn. No matter what he said, it was clear that Zayn liked Liam for more than fun. Zayn loved Liam like Louis had loved Harry. Had. Before Harry hadn’t loved him. But Zayn loved Louis too, even after al he’d said, and all he’d wrecked Zayn kept caring for him. Louis loved Zayn too.

 

Liam, bless him, just seemed to get it and nodded. Then, and Louis’ heart nearly melted when he did, he took a quick look up and down the hall –to make sure it was clear- and then ducked in to give Zayn a quick peck. Then he was gone.

 

Zayn must’ve known he was awake because he didn’t make any effort to get quiet getting back into the other side of the bed. Zayn still didn’t ask questions. He just cuddled up next to Louis and went back to bed.

 

***

The next time Louis woke up, it was Sunday. The light was streaming through the curtains and Zayn was long gone. He’d plugged Louis’ phone into the charger before he’d left though, and it was only on 11%, so he couldn’t have been gone for long.

 

Alone, Louis looked under Zayn’s bed. There, just as it had been the day before, was a tin of biscuits Louis was fairly sure they didn’t sell anymore. After eating a few the day before, Louis was almost positive they were a relic from the last selection, but they were his only sustenance, and Louis brain had tricked him into enjoying the cardboard-y texture enough to eat them obsessively. If that wasn’t adaptation at its finest, Louis didn’t know what was.

 

While phones were an infinite wealth of information, it was quite hard to figure out what to do on them when you had hours and hours to waste. He posted a picture on Instagram, one he’d taken a few days before of his bedroom –it was actually a very good photo, if Louis did say so himself. Inexplicably, he’d gained 100,000 followers since he’d started his account only a couple of weeks before. Apparently, the selection had captured the attention of the entire world, as people were regularly messaging from America and Russia and Japan. Sometimes, Louis would receive a message from countries he hadn’t even know existed, which was endlessly exciting. He was careful not to tell anyone anything too juicy, because any spoilers would surely make their way to the gossip sites quicker than he could type them out. It was nice to have people telling him he was was good for Harry, even if he wasn’t. Even if Harry was sneaking off in halls with other boys and caring about people who weren’t him. As much as Louis wanted to tell his followers, just out of anger, he kept it to himself.

 

Zayn came back a couple hours after. In his hand he had a perfectly dusty book. Immediately Louis made grabby hands at it. Zayn pulled it up above his head. “I got you this,” he started, “from the library.” Louis stayed silent, waiting, “From the back,” silence, “from the bottom shelf. I even made sure it was dusty enough to give me as asthma attack.”

 

Louis hadn’t realized Zayn had even known that was what Louis liked. He hadn’t known Zayn had been paying attention to him the last week or so. Louis loved Zayn.

 

“But,” Zayn continued, “I will only give it to you the condition that you come to dinner tonight.”

 

Louis sat back, “you aren’t serious.”

 

“Oh,” Zayn frowned, “I’m more than serious. You can’t live off stale biscuits for the rest of your life. Also, those are going to give you food poisoning.” Zayn said, pointing out Louis’ crumbling pile of biscuits.

 

Louis thought about it for a moment. He’d rather throw himself off the palace turret than go to dinner that night –and see Harry staring longingly at Wolf Harvey from the head of the table- but he might have actually died if he didn’t eat.

 

Hard as it was, he lamented, “okay, okay, okay,” he sighed, “just give me the book!”

 

Zayn grinned, and tossed the book into his lap, landing in a cloud of dust.

 

***

The book was absolutely terrible, in fact, it was one of the worst things Louis had ever read. It was a hunting journey, the entire thing, all 100 pages of it. Tedious was an understatement, repetitive was even worse. The author had felt the need to make it incredibly clear every time a shot was fired, by whom, and what it had fit. Louis kind of felt like someone was drilling this information into his head with an industrial drill. He kept reading.

 

The most exciting part was the hunting dogs. Louis knew they were greyhounds (“the colour of metal welded into a building to build a frame that could hold a hundred men on the second floor without any creaks” –god did Louis hate this book), and that they were fast (“fast like an automobile on the brand new highway that runs from London to Cambridge which on a good day you can drive as fast as 30 miles an hour into the countryside”), and that one promptly died –not two pages into the book (“skewered on a tree branch like a pig roasting on a spit on the beach in the middle of the night when you’re about to have a fabulous feast”).

 

Even as painfully terrible as it was, Louis pushed on. Each time he turned the page, it crackled as if it was brand new, and perhaps it had never been opened in the 80 years since it hade been published. Louis couldn’t think of any time when someone would desire to read something so positively horrible. But it was kind of fun to think that he was the only person –outside of the hunting group- to have every experienced this day with the author.

 

No matter how awful, Louis welcomed the distraction for a few hours. At least when he was reading about a single shot going off for three paragraphs straight, he wasn’t thinking about Harry’s lips pressed up against Wolf’s, or Wolf’s arms on his waist, or Wolf looming. He swore he wasn’t thinking about it at all.

       

***

Louis entered the dining room begrudgingly. He’d been forced to wear a pair of jeans by Zayn, and they were uncomfortable, and too long so he’d had to cuff them and he looked like a total tosser. Not that he cared who saw him, but he still had enough pride to feel shame. He’d worn one of Zayn’s cable knit sweaters –one of the few items he’d been given that wasn’t black or leather- and it fell down over his palms like mittens and made him look awfully cute (if Louis did say so himself). Zayn had even made him run a brush through his hair –despite his insistence that it was stylish bed-head. So on all accounts, Louis actually looked very presentable.

 

The room was nearly full when they got there. Boys often arrived early in hopes of snagging a seat next to Harry, so by the time he and Zayn walked in, the room was abuzz with excited chatter. Louis spotted Wolf Harvey almost immediately when he entered, and he sat in his usual place near the centre. It was an unassuming place, surrounded by boys Louis could barely name. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that perhaps Wolf was on his way out the door.

 

Liam was resting against a wall. It wasn’t unusual to have boys wait for friends before dinner started, but anything Liam did in relation to Zayn was suspicious, and their encounter last night hadn’t done anything to ease Louis’ mind. When he saw Zayn, he pushed off the wall, leaving a scuff mark of the bright white moulding. Internally, Louis flinched. They took their seats at the end, where large swaths of seats were still empty. Thanks to the shrinking number of boys in the palace, and the eagerness to sit as close to Harry as possible, finding three seats at the end was easy as pie.

 

Harry had been deep in conversation with some boy enthusiastically leaning over so that Harry could see his collarbones. If boys had tits, Louis figured this would be the equivalent. It was dumb, and it set Louis’ teeth on edge, but it distracted the Prince enough that he didn’t even notice Louis walking in. Just the way Louis wanted.

 

He’d resolved to fly under the radar all week. So much so that Harry would forget he even existed, so when it finally came time to decide on eliminations, he would realize that he had no need for Louis and send him home. Perhaps it was rash, but Louis couldn’t deal with the idea of being with someone who didn’t love him all the way. Even if Harry ever came to love him, he’d always love other boys too, he’d love Wolf Harvey, and he’d probably love Miles Seamen too. Louis couldn’t live like that.

 

His plan came tumbling down when Niall hopped up from where he sat, right next to Harry, and came striding towards him, “Oi, Louis!” he exclaimed, “Long time no see, eh?”

 

Niall must have meant well, but it wasn’t worth anything when over the shoulder of his hug Louis caught familiar green eyes. Harry had his drink off the table, like he was about to take a sip, and his mouth was all skewed up, like he was mid-word when his eyes fell on Louis. So much for being forgettable. Beside him, the boy kept talking, flashing the skin around his neckline and flashing his bright, wide eyes towards what was now Harry’s right cheek. Harry nodded absently at what he said, but he said nothing and clearly wasn’t listening. Instead he was stuck on Louis, and he didn’t know what to do about that.

 

Louis broke first.

 

Niall joined them at the end, settling into a comfortable conversation with Liam and Sebastian Fairchild, who had taken a seat right next to Louis the second he had come in. In his place, Knight Bradley came sprinting from his seat in the centre of the table. Three other boys sat back down into seats they had leapt out of.

 

There was an incessant clacking of soup spoons from every angle, like bells from the top of a church tower, only instead of the soothing ring to tell you that it was noon, the clacks rang out in a tortuous way, like a wind turbine spinning slow enough that there was a moment of silence between whooshes, the kind that drove farmers insane. Louis kind of wanted to knock the spoons right out of the hands of everyone at the table, and make a grand scene of flipping his chair back or the table all together.  

 

He tried his best to join into the conversation, something about politics –which actually seemed quite amicable- but Louis had neither the interest nor the knowledge to effectively engage. It was useless to try and speak when every time he so much as cast a look to his left he caught the intense stare of the Prince, and a look at Wolf Harvey’s smug face. His stomach hurt too much to eat.

 

Perhaps a diet of chocolate biscuits for two days straight was not as nourishing as he thought. More likely was that Louis had no appetite –the same reason chocolate biscuits had felt so filling. When the trays of food started to come around, he refused most things, deflecting to Niall who would gladly shovel up anything left. He took just enough to look like he was eating, and pushed it around his pate for a while, whisking up his mashed potatoes until they were gluey and basically inedible. It wasn’t that things didn’t taste right: they were all delicious, but it was like he’d just ate an entire feast, and had no interest in eating. If a few weeks ago he would have been told he wasn’t eating because he was upset that a boy was in love with someone else, he would have laughed nervously. Now, there was no laughter.

 

He didn’t want to be the first up, not willing to risk drawing any extra attention to himself. He also _really_ didn’t want to be there any longer than he had to, so for ten minutes after both dinner and dessert had come and gone and the conversation had long since fizzled out, Louis sat there waiting for someone to get up. He stared resolutely forward, over Zayn’s head, to avoid finding Harry’s eyes. He had self control, he had resilience, he could survive three extra minutes.

 

It turned out that he didn’t have to, because one of the boys in the middle slid his chair back against the hardwood. Like clockwork, ten other chairs slid back and suddenly the room was emptying fast. Louis didn’t wait on his turn to slip out in the thick of the crowd.

 

“Louis!” A voice called from the head of the table, and Louis didn’t want to stop. For a moment he thought about ignoring Harry’s call, and continuing to walk out. _The wishes of the Prince and other nobility will be followed by the participant with no contest._ Louis had forgotten that he had signed away his right to autonomy when he agreed to take part in the selection. He was a slave of sorts, expected to do as he was told. He stopped in his tracks, and turned around.

 

Other boys walked around him with a wide berth, like something must be wrong with him to have been called out by the Prince like that. Louis let the room drain -contrary to his plan- until it was just him and Harry, alone. He didn’t want to talk to Harry, he didn’t even want to see Harry. He wanted to go back to Zayn’s room and have Zayn hug him when he cried and snotted all over his bedspread all over again.

 

“Are you not feeling well?” Harry asked, as he approached form his seat at the front. Louis had stayed still, not venturing any further towards the Prince. “I noticed you weren’t eating, is all.”

 

Louis looked him straight in the eye, he tried his best to steel his face as much as possible. “I feel fine, just haven’t been in the mood to be in front of cameras the last couple of days.” He tried to reason. Maybe it was partly true, but he’d never been in the mood to be in front of cameras before, the only difference was that then he wanted to be here, and now he didn’t.

 

“I can get a plate sent up to your room if you’d rather eat there,” Harry asked. Eyes gone wide in concern, and a couple days before Louis would have appreciated it, but now he wanted to be left alone as quickly as possible.

 

“No, it’s fine,” Louis promised, “I ate enough just now. You just probably weren’t looking when I did.”

 

Harry looked suspicious, implicit in his face was a look of _I was always looking._ He still didn’t say anything about it. Instead he looked down, and then his face dropped. “You aren’t wearing your bracelet.”

 

It was true that Louis wasn’t. He’d taken it off not long after he’d shown up at Zayn’s door, in a fit of tears he’d unscrewed it with Zayn’s credit card stuck in the grooves because he’d left the custom screwdriver in his room and hadn’t had the energy to go back and find it. It was laid carefully in Zayn’s beside drawer though, because he planned to sell it once he got home –or that’s what he told Zayn, at least. “Oh yeah,” Louis said, as if he had barely noticed, “I took it off to shower yesterday and must’ve forgotten to put it back on. I didn’t want it to rust, you know?” Louis hadn’t showered in three days.

 

“It’s solid gold,” Harry said, again not believing him, “Gold doesn’t rust.”

 

Louis knew that. He’d taken chemistry in school. “Oh,” he said dumbly, “I didn’t know that. I haven’t had much experience with solid gold jewellery you know.” He’d somehow dug himself further in, when he’d wanted out. Oops.

 

“Well, for next time I guess.” Harry said. Louis nodded. God it was awkward. Two days ago he would have been kissing Harry good night, and letting him walk him back to his room and letting him touch his waist and curl his fingers in his hair.

 

Instead, he left before Harry had the chance to ask if he wanted company.

 

***

_To Mr. Louis Tomlinson ,_

_Her majesty Queen Anne requests your presence at her apartments this afternoon at 2pm for tea. Please arrive promptly and dress appropriately._

_Signed,_

_William Delegré ,_

_Hand of the Queen_

The letter was waiting on his pillow when Louis returned to his room the next morning. He’d spent the night again with Zayn, this time by accident. They’d been talking late into the night, and Louis had been waiting around for Liam to show up, this time vowing to leave as soon as he came knocking. Liam had never arrived, and they’d kept talking and somehow they’d both ended up fast asleep.

 

He’d come back to the room to change into acceptable clothes –ones that were his and not Zayn’s. He’d decided he would venture out that day, because if he was to be back home in Doncaster by the end of the week, he wanted to appreciate the beauty of the palace grounds for a little longer. That and there was an optional trip out to the summer palace, meaning that nearly every boy would be out and he would have the space mostly to himself.

 

With the invitation, it meant he really only had an hour out of the grounds before he would have to come back to his room and change. What did one wear to tea? Was it a suit occasion? And if it was, was a tie required? It seemed that royal events had all sorts of rules about how to dress and any deviation was seen as incredibly disrespectful. He’d have to ask Perrie.

 

Even so, he did venture out to the nearly empty grounds. He took a walk through the rose garden and looked at the hedges as they were carved into rabbits and teddy bears and every shape you could think of. He couldn’t help but think it was like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. Surrounded by playing card gardeners, painting white rose bushes red. Louis wasn’t sure what what roll he played. Whether he was Alice, or The Queen, or a porcupine about to be hit with a croquet mallet. Still he enjoyed sun and the massive garden just the same.

 

He wondered if this was what it would be like to be a royal. If he would be able to spend every day wandering the gardens by himself. The prospect was a lovely one. He’d gladly spend his days like that. He tipped his eyes up to the sun, letting it warm his cheeks and blind him with searing light. The trees rustled beside him, calming sweeping sounds filled the air and the scent of floral and fresh cut grass and clean air all filled his lungs in tandem.

 

Maybe he didn’t want to leave, if it meant another morning in the gardens and another afternoon with rows upon rows of books in every genre and language he could think of. It is meant another cashmere sweater and a cell phone plan inexplicably paid for without anything leaving his bank account. If it meant another night in his room by himself, without the resounding snores of little girls all around him. Still, he couldn’t stay when he wasn’t there for Harry. That wasn’t fair, was it?

 

It didn’t matter what was fair though, because it wasn’t his choice.

 

The alarm on his phone rang, and he turned towards to the palace to go back. The windows glistened like liquid glass, like something straight out of a fairy tale. The glassed in atrium was framed in gold and a soft golden light glowed from the inside, casting it in a light of opulence that Louis could barely comprehend.

 

Perrie opened the door, beckoning him back inside with a smile of her face. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, spilling down her head in ringlets of platinum blond and she smiled at him like she really wanted him to come with her, like it wasn’t just her job.

 

She dressed him up in a blue suit, without a tie and let the first button stay open, because tea was apparently casual enough for that _definitely_ not casual enough to wear anything less than a suit. Louis didn’t bother to ask where these rules had come from, just nodded and let Perrie dress him like a paper doll and smooth her hands over the lapels until they lay perfectly flat.

 

“You’re a stunner,” she said with a kind smile, “go impress the fuck out of her.”

 

Then they giggled together because the Queen was probably not meant to be associated with the word _fuck._ He’d miss Perrie when he left. Perhaps she could come and visit him, he remembered her saying that she was from not to far from Doncaster once.

 

She shoved him out the door with a pat on the shoulder, and said she expected him to know his way up to The Queen’s apartments by now and wouldn’t be helping him in the least. In reality, she trailed not far behind him the whole way, pretending she had things to do at every turn. Perrie was so lovely to him.

 

“Go on,” she pushed when he stood in front of her door for a few minutes too long. She put a comforting hand on his back, and gently pushed him forward. “You’ve got an invitation haven’t you? It’s not as if they’re going to tell you to fuck off!”

 

They. Louis had kind of subconsciously known that there would be other people at tea, but he’d tried his best not to think about that. He had no clue whether there would be other selected hoys there, or other nobility, or just The Queen’s servants. Backward as it was, he was actually more comfortable with it just being him and Anne.

 

The same Hand as last time opened the door. His withered smile welcomed him in to see that the couches and coffee tables from last time had been replaced with a large circular table, with every seat but one filled. The Queen was laughing jovially with another woman around her age, but the two wore hats so impractical that Louis wasn’t even sure one could call it a hat, it was more of a hair accessory than anything else, truly.

 

As he’d half expected, he was the only man in the room. In fact, he was the only person under 30 in the room, which in a way was more disconcerting than his gender. Each of the women had a cup of tea in her hand, and Louis worried if he was terribly late and had read the invitation wrong.

 

When the Queen noticed him standing at the entrance, she jumped up to her feet. The room went silent. “Louis, darling!” She exclaimed, and as she neared, her voice lowered, “don’t worry, you’re right on time. I asked the rest of the ladies to come a bit earlier so you could meet them all together.”

 

Queen Anne was a wonderful woman. She seemed to always smile with happiness and she was cordial and polite. She had always been impossibly well dressed and the sort of pretty you expect a Queen to be. But most importantly, she was kind and she cared about how he felt about things. Louis would have loved to have her as a mother-in-law.

 

She took him all around the table, having him shake the hands of the women in her inner circle. “This is Liza,” she’d said, introducing Queen Elizabeth of the Netherlands like an old friend. “This is Mariana,” introducing another Queen. It was a bit disconcerting to be in the presence of royalty and not expected to bow. It was nice though, to feel welcomed.

 

He couldn’t help but wonder why she had chosen him. Was it because he was her favourite? Had Harry told her to bring him? Was she planning to hold another tea for every boy, and he was just the first? Or had she already gone through everyone else and they’d just been sworn to secrecy like Wolf was in the hallway.

 

But in the end he ate finger sandwiches and sipped on his choice of tea (surprisingly Yorkshire was a fancy enough brand to end up in the palace collection), and chatted with Queens and Duchesses. Not a single one mentioned a single other boy, but each already knew his name. For an hour or so, Louis was one of them. They ignored the fact that he was a teenage boy, and instead he was one of the ladies. They gossiped like there wasn’t an outsider in their midst, and laughed at Louis’ jokes like they’d been expecting them. Louis realized then, much to his surprise, that he quite liked being a lady.

 

 When they finally left, they each sang his praises, giving him happy smiles, truly happy ones, like they’d actually liked him. That was nice. Maybe if he ever got in international trouble he’d give one of them a call. It might come in handy, who knew.

 

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said, after each of the guests had left.

 

Queen Anne smiled at him, just like she had all afternoon. “They loved you. You know they’ve all said they look forward to seeing you again.”   

 

Louis laughed nervously, “I’m not sure when we’ll ever be in the same place again, but it’s a nice sentiment.”

 

Anne looked him over, searching for something in his presence, “they’ll be here for the Autumn Ball,” she promised, “I’m sure they’ll want to steal a couple of dances with you.”

 

The Autumn Ball would be at the end of September, a couple of weeks from where they sat in early September. It was quite bold of Anne to assume he would be around for so long. Louis wondered if she had spoken to Harry about who he wanted around. He wondered if she knew about Wolf. If she knew that Harry was sneaking around under the dark of night to display his true feelings. He wondered if Harry had told her that he was just a cover-up for Wolf.

 

“Now, I don’t want to be intrusive,” she started cautiously, “but I’ve noticed that you’ve been a bit illusive the last couple of days. I hope you know that you can tell me how you’re feeling, and that nothing you say will make it’s way out of this room, not even to Harry.”

 

Anne reminded Louis of his mother. If his mother had been less busy, and absolutely bogged down by his little sisters. Even if the heat of competition, Louis truly believed that she wanted the best for him. Anne was the kind of woman who was genuinely lovely. He’d always wondered if her TV persona was different from her real self, and it was. Anne was even kinder in real life.

 

“I think it’s just caught up with me a bit, is all,” Louis shrugged, “like there are all these boys here, and only one of us is going to be here forever. I knew that coming in, and I forgot it somewhere along the way.” Anne smiled, and nodded in understanding. “I kind of thought that we’d come in, he’d fall in love with one of us, and send the rest home. But that isn’t how it goes, is it?”

 

Anne let out a stunted laugh, “No, it isn’t. 

 

“Today was nice, though,” he said, because it had been. An absolutely lovely afternoon. “is it against the rules to hug you?”

 

Anne gave him a smile, maternal and kind, “It is never against the rules to hug me, I want you to know that.”

 

So Louis wrapped his arms around her waist and settled his head against her shoulder. She was warm in the way mothers only are. She was comfortable, and soft, her cheeks were velvety, even with the skin growing weathered with time. She gripped his upper back, settling under his scapula to let her soft hands warm his back through his dress shirt. Louis could have fallen asleep in her arms. It would have been so easy to close his eyes and be enveloped in her softness and her maternal warmth and let it all float away for a moment.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered when he finally pulled himself away from her embrace.

 

“No need, it’s always a pleasure,” she assured, “now I hope you won’t mind if I invite you back later this week, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

 

Something about that made Louis feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

 

***

 

“I like Liam,” Zayn said the next day. It was Monday. Time was funny in the palace. Even though they had nothing to do any day, the weekend still felt freer than the weekdays. Monday felt like business. Disconcertingly in contrast, Louis lay in a bed of grass in the middle of the afternoon. He itched to get up, to get to work and wait some tables before coming home to his mother and his sisters. Instead he listened to Zayn’s words where he lay beside him. “I thought it was just proximity, but I think I really like him.”

 

“Hmm,” Louis mused, closing his eyes but still the sun shone through his eyelids and cast a golden glow over his vision. Louis had known that much.

 

“Is that bad of me?” Zayn asked. Even with his eyes closed he could feel Zayn turn his face to look at him.

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Louis said, turning to see him. “I might’ve said differently a week or two ago, but I think you love who you love. There isn’t anything wrong with wanting Liam when you’re meant to love Harry.”  

 

“Thank you for that.”

 

“No problem.”

 

A silence settled pleasantly over them, still there was expectation in the air. Zayn spoke first. “Do you love Harry?”

 

“No,” Louis said, looking him in the eye. “He doesn’t love me either.”

 

“But soon?” Zayn persisted, “you’ll love him soon?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Silence again, and Louis knew that Zayn was waiting for him to say why. He knew Zayn wouldn’t think it was silly, but Louis would, and saying it out loud might make it seem too real. Still, he felt a sense of obligation. “I saw him kissing someone else,” he admitted, “and it’s dumb because I knew it wasn’t only me, but it was nice to pretend, and I can’t do that anymore.”

 

“Who was it?” Zayn asked, not with anger, or sadness. Just curiosity.

 

“Wolf Harvey,” Louis told him.

 

Zayn’s brow furrowed, “Really?” he asked incredulously, “I would have never thought.”

 

Louis snorted, “me neither,” he paused, “I think I’m going to go home.”

 

“Why would you do that?”

 

Louis shrugged, despite the fact that he knew why. “Even if I win, he won’t love me. At least not only me, and I’d just love _him._ That isn’t fair to me. The likelihood that he’ll keep someone else around is so high that it isn’t even worth winning. He’ll marry whoever is most right, but he won’t marry to only one he loves.”

 

“It’s still early, though,” Zayn reasoned, “why would you give up a chance to live here a little longer? Anyways, most of us won’t be loved by him even a little bit! We’re all using him for the moment. Hell, I’m actively falling in love with someone completely different. Join the club!”

 

Louis laughed, “Yeah, I guess I should.”

 

With that Zayn got up off the grass, brushing already soaked through grass stains off his jeans and extending a hand to pull Louis up. “C’mon,” he said, “I’ve got something to show you.”

 

So, Louis let Zayn draw him blindly through the palace again, making turns and twists that Louis had never seen. At one point, he even pulled open a wall to reveal a darkened staircase and led Louis down into the abyss. Louis didn’t say a word. He figured Zayn knew it better than he did, and let the black swallow him as they went down into the depths of the palace.

 

They ended up in the kitchen. Louis had been here briefly on his late night walk –but that had long since faded from his memory in favour of thousands of pictures of Wolf Harvey’s legs between Harry’s and his mouth overpowering Harry’s and his body looming over him like a shadow. In the light of day, the kitchen was bright, lit by a little window in the top of the wall to tell Louis that they were underground. It was pretty, and reminded Louis of little country cottages that only existed in films. A large wooden prep table sat in the middle of the room, and around the edges were refrigerators and sinks and a gas stove. One wall was build from uneven stones, stuck together with mortar that looked old enough that it was probably original where every other wall in the palace had long since been replace and plastered.

 

“I’ve spoken to the head butler here, he says he’ll hire me when I leave,” Zayn said, a smile ablaze on his face, “Imagine working here Lou! We could stay forever! Liam says he’ll join the guard detail and we’ll get to stay for as long as we like.”

 

Louis couldn’t help but smile too. A few weeks ago, he would have dreamed of working in the palace, in a place that gave him a place to live –in London too!

 

“In the summer palace they give you a cottage on the property when you get married. It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s like living in a little village. It’d be a nice place to raise children I think.” Zayn nearly giggled. “I could ask for you. I’m sure they can find something for you to do.” A pang of jealousy shot through Louis’ center. Zayn was positively giddy, with his whole life planned out, and the image of children pulsing through his veins. Louis wanted that. Instead he was stuck in this angry limbo between having someone love him and having no one.

 

Louis smiled, halfway, a bit crushed, “yeah.” Something was wrong with him. A few weeks ago he would have killed for a job like that. With a house for himself! Now he’d had a taste of the world upstairs from the servant’s quarters, and he wanted that. Something was wrong with him. People like Louis wanted what Zayn was getting, not how Harry lived. Those thoughts were reserved for fever dreams and journal writing.

 

***

 

Monday night came and Louis had settled in for an early night. He’d resolved to skip dinner, and catch up on sleep. So it was barely six pm when he had changed into his pajamas and send a text to his mum to wish her a good night.

 

The knock came not long after. Louis groaned. He’d expected Zayn. In hindsight, he should have known that no one would have knocked on his door around dinner time unless there was a better reason than to call him out.

 

Harry stood in the doorway. He was wearing a suit –although it would have been more unusual had he not. More importantly, he held a bouquet of flowers in his hands, thrust out for Louis to take. He didn’t. Harry still smiled brightly as if he hadn’t noticed Louis’ rejection.

 

“What are you doing here?” Louis asked, trying his best not to sound upset.

 

Harry still smiled, and he hated it. “I thought I might take you out to dinner, just the two of us. I remember you said you weren’t in the mood for cameras, so it would be just us.”

 

“Umm,” Louis said, breaking eye contact to look back into his bedroom. He hoped Harry would get his meaning.

 

He did. All of a sudden he let the arm with the flower drop to his side, the poor roses handing upside down, forgotten. “You don’t want to go,” he said, admitting it to himself. Then after a second of allowing it all to set in. “Are you feeling okay? I know you said you were, but really. You can tell me if you aren’t.”

 

“I’m fine!” Louis bite, “I’m not sick! Look, I’m going to have to come with you whether I want to or not, so let me get dressed.”

 

Louis moved to close the door, but Harry’s hand shot up to catch it before it moved even an inch. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

Louis laughed, an angry one. “I do, though!” he insisted, “it’s in the contract I signed! _The wishes of the Prince must be followed without contest._ ” 

“This isn’t a wish,” Harry persisted, “it’s a request. And if you don’t want to go, we don’t have to go. We can just stay here. I wanted to see you, is all.”

 

Louis snorted, “why don’t you go out with Wolf instead. There won’t be cameras anyways. I’m sure he’d enjoy it.”

 

Harry’s brows knitted together over his eyelids. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I’m mad at you,” Louis finally admitted, “I’m mad, and it’s silly that I’m mad, but I am, so I don’t want to see you right now.”

 

Harry looked confused, then he looked sad, then he looked a bit heartbroken. “Will you tell me why you’re mad?” he asked, “Can we go inside to talk?”

 

“No.” Louis answered, standing tall in the doorway.

 

“What have I done to make you so upset? I haven’t seen you all weekend anyways! What could I have done remotely?”

 

“You’re playing a game,” Louis said, matter-of-factly.

 

Harry sputtered out a joyless laugh, “We’re all playing a game! This is a game!”

 

“What if I don’t want a game?” Louis asked, “what if I wanted your word, that it’d be me and it’d only be me in the end?” Then a look on Harry’s face, “You couldn’t do that. Maybe it’s because you don’t love me yet, and maybe it’s because you love someone more, and maybe it’s because you love more than one of us, but I can’t play anymore.”

 

Harry’s face fell and he opened his mouth to speak again. **_RING RING RING._** An alarm had gone off. **_RING RING RING._** People started to run, guard drew their guns out of their holsters and out of cracks and crevices in the panelling came ten or twenty more with long rifles and some with machine guns. **_RING RING RING._** Someone grabbed hold of Harry, and dragged him back. **_RING RING RING._** Someone’s hand was on him, pulling him towards an open panel too. **_RING RING RING_** Louis was scared. All around people were rushing, and they knew what to do, bursting into empty rooms to look for stragglers, but it seemed Louis and Harry were the only ones in the hall. **_RING RING RING._** He was being shoved roughly down a staircase, a yellowed light lit the way down. It was steep, they were going underground. **_RING RING RING._** The staircase kept going. He followed Harry’s dark form, the satin in his suit jacket caught the light enough to illuminate him for a moment, every time they passed one of the tiny, golden lanterns. He couldn’t see the guard anymore. **_RING RING RING._**

 

A door slammed shut, and the sound of a door locking rung through corridor. Louis was scared. A terrifying thought shot through his spine, _what if the guard who had shoved him in this stairwell wasn’t on his side?_ But Harry was calm, walking slowly down the stairs as if he had done it a million times before. Maybe he had.

 

The rings had been subdued by the closing of the door. Now, they were barely audible. Only if Louis listened closely to the walls he could here the triple reverberation from outside. It hit Louis then, that they were headed for a bomb shelter.

 

The stairs were ending in a concrete floor.  Louis could see the rectangular room illuminated by a single light fixture set into the ceiling. He was scared.

 

The flowers had been lost somewhere along the way in the mess of alarms and guards and stairs. Harry set his blazer next to him on the far side of the room. Beside him was a rusting sink, the sort that was only a basin and affixed to the wall by its pipe. Across was a set of shelves bolted to the wall. They were filled with blankets, first aid kits, handbooks, a phone that looked like like it had originated in the 80s, with a long antenna collapsed in the side, and cans and packages of preserved food.

 

It was a bomb settler. That Louis was sure of. He wanted to ask Harry what had happened. God, did he even want to know? All he could think was that a nuclear bomb had been dropped, or the British government had fallen in a coup and they were awaiting their execution like the French revolution. That was unlikely. They would have shot him dead already, and just kept Harry as ransom. As much as he wanted to ask, he kept silent.

 

Harry was calm, he sat on the floor like he had many times before, he didn’t look up.

 

“How many of us did you tell were your first kiss?” Louis ended up saying, because he was scared, and somehow his fear had manifested itself in anger.

 

Harry looked up, sad, angry. “Just you. Because it was true. I’ve never lied to you.”

 

“Lying by omission is still lying,” Louis reminded.

 

“I wasn’t lying by omission!” Harry insisted, “You just chose to ignore the obvious! It isn’t my fault you can’t handle a game, Louis!”

 

Louis sighed “it isn’t. But it is your fault that it is a game in the first place. What about in nine weeks, when this whole thing ends? Will the game be over then? Or are you going to keep the others around forever? Make it a permanent selection?”

 

That hit Harry hard, harder than Louis had intended from the way his face sunk. Anger dripped from his cheeks and the tension in his face flowed. Harry deflated. Then they were silent.

 

Louis wished he had brought his phone with him. They were probably too far down for cell service, but at least he could fuck around with it, and pretend he was doing something more important than watch Harry fall apart like a balloon with no air.

 

“My father’s been cheating on my mother since they got married. He was before too, but it wasn’t cheating back then because he wasn’t in a relationship with any of them,” he said eventually, “Her name’s Sandra. He hired her into the maid staff the day he sent her home. She didn’t even have a chance to pack up. He just relocated her. Now he calls her a close friend, but it’s pretty clear that he isn’t staying up all night talking to her when he waves goodbye to her in the morning.

 

“I think he wished she was my mother, because we used to do things together, like we used to have dinner together, the three of us. We used to go to playgrounds, because she wasn’t recognizable beyond a forgotten selection competitor, and when I was little enough I could have been anyone. I loved her. I think in a way; she was my mistress too. Mum was caught up in the requirements of it all. We had lessons to do, appearances to go to, manners to have. Sandra was just fun. I was allowed to be a kid with her. I told my mum once, that I loved Sandra, and she cried so hard that one of her maids had to shoo me out of the room.”

 

Louis’ eyes were going watery.  

 

“My mum’s like you. That’s why she likes you so much, because she sees herself in you,” Harry continued, “the game never ended for her, and she couldn’t handle it. It broke her. It crushed her a little bit every day to see that my dad didn’t love her completely, even more so to see that I didn’t love her completely. I used to hate my dad for doing that to her. I thought that people just loved one person and they’d pick whoever they loved. That’s not true. And that’s hard to wrap my head around. I get it now,” he admitted.

 

Louis felt his heart sink. Any lingering hope that Harry would he his completely and thoroughly began to fade away. His eyes got glassy, and his vision started to blur. He wanted Harry, and he wanted him forever. Some small part of his heart still insisted that Harry was _his,_ completely his. It hurt to know that wasn’t true.

 

“But I couldn’t do that to my child,” Harry started again, out of the blue. “I don’t want my son to grow up confused about what love is, and hurting because it wasn’t what the story books said it was. I couldn’t do that to my husband. I’ll have to pick, when it comes time.”

 

“What if it’s not that easy?” Louis asked, “your father couldn’t.”

 

Harry scoffed. “My father didn’t want to. You’ve seen his selection, haven’t you? He kept six girls right until the end. He never planned for it to end. He wanted to keep his toys forever. I don’t. I’ll know soon enough, and I’ll send the rest home when I do. I’ll get over them too. You remember the guard I told you about? The one I had a _thing_ with? He still works here, and I see him sometimes. I don’t want him anymore. I don’t long for him. I don’t even think about him. It’ll be like that.”

 

Louis liked that. Harry was resolute. Whoever he ended up with, that would be it. No side tricks, no special friends. Just love. That was a nice thing to remember. Harry was good. He wanted to be good.

 

“Even if they end up working here?” Louis asked, and Harry cocked his head to the side, “Zayn is going to get a job afterwards, in the summer palace, probably.”

 

Harry shrugged as if to say _oh._ “And Liam, I assume?” he asked.

 

Louis was taken off guard. “you know about that?” he gasped.

 

“Of course I do?” Harry shrugged, as if it was some open secret. “They aren’t exactly subtle. You know they hold hands sometimes? I thought that was awfully bold, but at least they’re committed.” Louis wanted to laugh. It was true that Zayn and Liam hadn’t been trying all that hard to cover up what was going on with the two of them since Louis had found out. Maybe they hadn’t even been hiding before Louis knew, and Louis was just as dense as a block of lead.

 

“Why haven’t you sent them home?” Louis persisted.

 

Harry kept shrugging, “It’s not my place to get in the middle of that. I might as well let them stick around for longer. After all, where else are they going to spend any time together?”

 

“You’re a good guy, Harry,” Louis said, authentic in his belief. “You’re going to make someone really happy.”

 

That hurt to say. He wanted Harry to make _him happy_. He wanted Harry to decide it was him, who he wanted forever. But he couldn’t do that. It would be someone, and Louis still had a chance. A small one after the stunt he pulled, but a chance all the same.

 

Some mythical sense of bravery spurred within him and he got up, crossing the length of the room to sit in Harry’s lap. Gently, he wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck and looked straight into his bright green eyes for a moment. Harry looked back, eyes wide and innocent. Louis pressed a kiss to his lips, soft and quiet. Nothing behind it. Just a kiss.

 

“I don’t love you,” he said and when Harry’s face changed he continued, “you don’t love me either. But I could love you, and you could love me. But you also might love Wolf Harvey, or Miles Seaman, or anyone still here. It’ll just take a while to know.”

 

Harry nodded.  


“But that’s okay,” Louis kept on, “I can’t make you love me now. I can’t make you love me ever. I can hope, but that doesn’t mean anything will happen. And most likely, I’ll go home in a couple of months with a good memory. Let’s not talk about the game any longer. Just us.”

 

“Just us.” Harry repeated, and tipped his chin up to catch Louis’ lips again. His lips tasted like coffee. “I’m nearly in love with you. So you know.”

 

“Thank you”

 

***

 

Louis wasn’t sure when he went to sleep, but when he woke up he’d been wrapped in a blanket, and Harry’s blazer had been tucked under his head like a pillow. He was nearly sure that he hadn’t gone to bed like that. In fact, he’s nearly sure that he had fallen asleep on Harry’s chest, but Harry was now on the other side of the room, rifling through the shelves.

 

“What time is it?” Louis asked, groggy and disoriented.

 

Harry pulled up the sleeve of his dress shirt to reveal a clunky gold watch. “Nearly 7 in the morning,” he said.

 

It had been a while then. They’d been locked in this bunker for nearly twelve hours. Had Louis not slept through most of it, he would probably be on the edge of insanity by now. Without windows and only the artificial lighting above them, it was impossible to know whether time was passing. “Do you know why we’re here?” he asked.

 

Harry shrugged, pulling a bag of crisps open and offering one to him, “They never tell me,” he took a crisp out of the bag and popped it in his mouth, “terrorist attack probably. They lock down the palace every time, just in case.”

 

That scared Louis more than the not knowing had. There was no way to know what had happened, whether his family was okay. He wished again he had brought his phone with him. “How long do you think it’ll be until we’re let out?”

 

Harry shrugged again, “Hard to tell. Probably soon though, they normally only wait for twelve or so hours. The longest was three days, but that was 9/11 and I was only four so I didn’t really mind that.”

 

“So only a little longer?” Louis asked again, needing the confirmation.

 

“Yeah, just a bit longer.” Harry replied. He walked over then, and dropped the bag in Louis’ lap. He slipped his back down the wall to sit next to him. “You’ve got to eat,” he motioned to the crisps.

 

“I’m not hungry,”

 

“Yes you are,” Harry said, as if he knew things about Louis that he didn’t even know himself. That bothered Louis more than it should have.

 

“Would you drop it?” he snapped.

 

“I’m just trying to help!” Harry defended, “why’re you always trying to be mad at me?”

 

“Because you act like you’re in charge of me!”

 

“Maybe I want to be!” Harry said, then after a moment, “Wolf lets me.”

 

That made Louis’ blood boil. Only a few hours ago, they’d been agreeing to disregard the game, and now Harry had brought up Wolf like he was a competitor. In the moment, something stirred in him, some competitive, terrible spirt overtook him and he was in Harry’s lap. He tugged his hands through his hair until it was pulled taught against his scalp and pulled Harry’s head until he was tilted up. Then he kissed him hard.

 

His teeth clacked forcefully against Harry’s and his tongue and staked claim over his mouth the moment they touched. Without a moment for him to process what was happening, Harry grabbed at the flesh of Louis’ arse, taking handfuls and pulling him closer until Louis’ bum sat on top of his cock. Louis could feel it through the fabric of his pajamas, hardening quickly.

 

“Does Wolf kiss you like this?” Louis asked, starved for breath and heady.

 

Before Harry could answer, Louis ducked in again to suck a mark on Harry’s neck. Something wicked in him wanted to mark Harry. He wanted people to know that he had the privilege of making Harry feel like that. He was able to kept Harry’s cock thick in his trousers and make his breath heavy, and have his eyes roll back in ecstasy. “No,” Harry admitted, as Louis continued to darken the hickey. He wanted it to be so dark that nothing would hide it, and no one would be able to ignore it. He wanted Harry to feel it when it brushed under the collar of his shirt.

 

“Does he get your cock as hard as I do?” Louis pushed on, back to licking wet kisses into Harry’s mouth and filling it with his tongue. Slowly and pointedly, he popped the button on Harry’s trousers.

 

“No,” Harry breathed. He followed Louis’ mouth, so that he couldn’t pull away to speak again, and with both hands on the sides of his head, he tugged Louis in. He let Harry fill his mouth, and let him overtake his power. It was nice. Even if it was angry and passionate and fast, it was nice to kiss Harry.

 

But Louis wouldn’t give himself away so quickly. Especially when he wasn’t the only one. He had to push Harry away from him, hard, but he did it. “I’m yours,” he said softly, then once he was far out of Harry’s reach, he continued, “If only you wanted to be mine.”

 

***

 

The door cracked open not long after, and they were two separate people again. Harry existed without Louis, and Louis functioned without Harry. If he closed his eyes for long enough, Louis could pretend that the bunker hadn’t happened at all, and that he was still mad at Harry. That it wasn’t _just them_ and that they had never shared that moment.

 

But every time his eyes let in light again, there was Harry. He was at the end of the table, across the hall, laughing with Sebastian Fairchild or Ed. Harry had weaved himself into the very fabric of Louis’ life, and now he couldn’t be avoided.

 

Even worse, Louis had returned to his room every night that week to an increasingly large and ridiculous flower arrangement. The flowers came without a note most days, but sometimes it would have a little note, written in fat sharpie so the lines bled into each other and left a big black mess all over the fancy palace paper, always signed _–Haz_. Louis wasn’t sure what he was meant to do with that information.

 

He knew Harry wasn’t buying him, because Harry knew he hadn’t any need to, but it felt like an exchange of goods for services in some capacity, and Louis had already accepted gifts, so it shouldn’t have felt so dirty. But something about how Louis had just climbed into his lap made him feel dirty. He felt a bit like the other woman, if he could be that in a time when Harry was dating no one.

 

But Louis went weak at the smell of daffodils and hydrangeas, so he hadn’t gotten up the courage to confront him about it.

 

So he and Harry drifted around each other. Harry gave him looks, and he looked back, Harry send flowers and Louis smiled, Harry opened the door for him and Louis said thank you. It was almost like they were friends, but friends didn’t make out in bomb shelters. Friends didn’t want to marry each other. Okay, they weren’t friends. 

 

Anne invited him back to her apartments the later that week. Louis had dressed up just the same as last time, and expected another group of women, maybe ones who couldn’t come to the first tea party. Instead, Louis was greeted by a single person sitting at a smaller circular table. He was older, around Anne’s age. He towered over the both of them, but his kind smile reminded him a bit of Santa Claus, and even more of Anne.

 

They sat around different tea sandwiches, probably the man’s favourite, and this time one of the Hands brought Louis Yorkshire tea without him asking. Anne had forgone the ridiculous near-hat in favour of allowing her hair to fall onto her shoulder in pretty curls. Louis was overdressed, with Anne only in a sundress and the man without his jacket, but Anne paid no mind when he shed his own jacket to sit down with them.

 

“This is Robin,” she said, smiling even wider than she normally did, and Louis glimpsed the same dimples in Harry’s face.

 

She introduced him as a good friend, but Louis knew better than that. This was Anne’s “Sandra”, the man who made her happier than the King. Louis was sad. Sad that Anne had also given up on her marriage. But he’d come to love Anne so much that he was overjoyed to see her truly happy with someone. He just didn’t want that for himself. He wanted Harry. He wanted only Harry.

 

***

 

Harry sent home four boys. Maybe it was a power move, maybe it was a grand gesture. But as Matthew Adams, Ron Hall, Mason Schneider and Keith Stokes all left the studio in various stages of disarray, Louis felt sad. Maybe because he knew it would be another week before he saw his mum and sisters. Maybe because he was four closer to winning and yet he was still nine weeks and nineteen boys away to having Harry in his arms forever.

 

Walking back to the rooms that evening, something felt different amongst the twenty remaining boys. Something had shifted in the air, something more sombre, less innocent. The competition was different then, and they all knew it.

 

And then there were twenty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are nice! 
> 
> I don't think I will be updating for a while because I'm feeling really down and this fic isn't making me feel as good as I expected it to. I try really hard to push out a 10k chapter as quickly as I can and sometimes it feels like it isn't really wanted so I think I'll take a bit of a break to regroup.


	7. Week 5: Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would it be a story by me if that sex wasn't blisteringly awkward? Anyways, enjoy. 
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone who reached out to support me when I said I wasn't feeling great, and all that loveliness really drove me to write this. Part 1 of 2 because i wasn't it to be out and not 20k. 
> 
> Shoutout to undersummerstars, nottooldforthisship for reccing on tumblr and to shapesoflou for messaging me. 
> 
> On with the show!

Monday started off the opposite of how Louis had intended to spend it. Apparently the cameras were sick of getting hours of footage comprised entirely of people loitering around the palace and sitting in the gardens. It seemed that that wasn’t making particularly good TV. To remedy this, they had decided to bring back a popular segment –because apparently that was how television was made.  

 

That meant, much to Louis’ displeasure, the return of the speed-dating round from the first day. Same room, same set up, all of it exactly the same. Except that no one was being sent home on the spot, so part of the excitement was gone. In its place, it seemed that they were expecting more drama. It seemed that the camera crew had been expecting more feuds to document by now. Perhaps the absence of a cat-fight was boring previous selection viewers, and the Americans always loved a good completely staged yell-fest.

 

So, they were all hustled into the familiar salmon ballroom, with the same tables and chairs, only now they only took up half the room and the golden numbers had been replaced by hand lettered name cards.

 

Louis was stationed nearer to the front this time, but eons away from Zayn, so it must’ve been random where they were placed. Except that Louis was sitting right next to the smug figure of Wolf Harvey. Maybe they were meant to fight. Louis didn’t doubt it.

 

Harry wore a bright yellow suit in, one so vibrant that when the light hit it, it very nearly glowed. He’d cut his hair that weekend, Louis had already known that, but it caught him off guard every time he saw Harry without the curls cascading down his shoulders like some royal Tarzan. Now it looked like he was a real Prince. A real royal. That was scarier somehow.

 

He smiled radiantly, like he always did, and nodded along with instructions like they were directed at him when they clearly weren’t. He let his advisors lead him from table to table, and he pointedly ignored the cameras –so they could get good shots of him in “candid conversation”. Few things were quite as faked,

 

He chatted happily with Wolf, and Louis couldn’t help but notice how different he was with him. With Louis, Harry was dominant, he took care of Louis –no matter how much it had started to make him uncomfortable. With Wolf he was giggly, and boyish. He let Wolf loom in a way that perhaps he himself did with Louis. Strange. Harry was never submissive with Louis, but the second Wolf loomed he was like a tree who’s trunk was too weak to stand by itself. Louis couldn’t figure out which part of him was acting, but he prayed to god it wasn’t the Harry he knew.

 

When he got up, Wolf gave him a kiss on the cheek and Louis was embarrassingly close to starting an actual cat fight. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do that, if he really wanted to, he could have kissed Harry on the cheek too, but it was that he didn’t want to. Harry was the one who did that to him, and it had always been that way, and Louis wanted it to be that way.

 

He wasn’t expecting what happened when Harry got to his table. He got up to hug Harry, partly to show the rest of the boys that he was allowed to do that, and partly because it would be more awkward that it was already if he didn’t greet him amicably. But, when he leaned into the hug, Harry’s hands came to rest on the sides of his face and he pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He hadn’t done that to Wolf, nor had he done it to Miles who had been the first. He didn’t let the kiss end either. Harry kept Louis’ head tipped up to his mouth for so long that eventually, out of concern for his neck, he rose up on his tip-toes to be more level with him. They weren’t even kissing hard, there wasn’t even any movement, just Harry pulling him close and keeping him there.

 

When he finally let him down, Louis went straight to ear, because he certainly wasn’t going to ask anything out loud. “What was that for?” Louis whispered, and when Harry looked confused he continued, “I mean, did you do it for the cameras? For the others?”

 

Harry switch to whisper into Louis’ ear, “I did it because I like kissing you.” Then a pause. “That’s okay, right?” Louis pulled back so he could see him nod. Harry smiled his same bright smile.

 

Then he led Louis around the table to his seat. He put a hand around his waist, and to the cameras it would have looked like he was only guiding him, but Louis felt the distinct weight of something being dropped into his jacket pocket. Something light, probably only made of paper, but Harry had put it there deliberately.    

 

  
“How are you?” harry asked, like they hadn’t just been connected at the mouth. It seemed like they probably should have been beyond greetings by then.

 

Louis grinned, not all the way, but enough so Harry would know it was genuine. “I’m good.” He nodded, as if to confirm to himself that he really was good. “I’m feeling better this week.”

 

They’d billed Louis’ absence to the TVs as sickness. He knew because he’d gotten a very angry call from his mother telling him that he should go to the doctor and get some antibiotics for whatever it was he had. Louis had to tell her that he wasn’t actually sick. He left out the bit where he had been heartbroken and was now more floating in a space between heartbreak and being in love than anything else. It would have been hard to explain.

 

“I’m glad. Does that mean I’ll get to see you more this week?” Harry asked, and suddenly Louis was incredibly conscious of the cameras surrounding them.

 

“If you’d like to.”

 

“I would,” Harry promised. 

 

Louis shrugged, “then I guess I’ll be awaiting your invitation.”

 

***

 

Louis waited longer than he should have to look in his pocket. Harry hadn’t said anything about the urgency of whatever he’d been given, but for all Louis knew, it could have been time sensitive. Still, he waited all of Monday afternoon to open it.

 

When he finally pulled the mystery item out of his pocket, he wasn’t surprised to see a note folded several times over. Opened up, it wasn’t much bigger than a cue-card, but it was printed on palace stationary and that woven paper that was all bumpy and seemed like it should have been cheap but was actually very expensive. For such a same size, there wasn’t much written on it either. Just two sentences, printed in Harry’s pointy hand writing.

 

_Thomas Chapman._

_My father picked him._

_-Haz_

Harry had a flair for the dramatic, that Louis knew from the times he’d shown up at his door in the middle of the night, and the flower arrangements now filling his bedroom with hundreds of different smells and building a thick canopy of blossoming petals over his head and around his bed.

 

That didn’t say anything about Harry being allowed to write him cryptic messages about other selected boys and drop them into his suit pocket. That didn’t fall under dramatic. That was just stupid. Louis had no clue what he was trying to say. Not a single clue. For all he knew, this could be Harry’s way of saying that he had found the man he planned to marry, and it was…Thomas Chapman.  Then again, people didn’t usually give their one true love the glowing review of “My father picked him”.

 

Louis had half a mind to toss the note out. It wasn’t like he’d have trouble remembering what it said. Instead he decided to tuck it into his bedside drawer.

 

In it was something Louis’ didn’t expect. The bracelet, which he had pointedly left in Zayn’s bedside table was lying there, inoffensively, like it hadn’t realized that that wasn’t its place. Louis half expected a note to go along with it, something from Zayn maybe, but most likely something from Harry, to say something cryptic and passive aggressive about putting it back on. Instead it just sat there, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to pick up the custom screwdriver and fasten it back onto his wrist.

 

In a stroke of confidence, and maybe a bit of dumb hopefulness, he did. The cool metal encircled him, and claimed what belonged to it. What belonged to Harry. If Harry ever wanted him.

 

They were okay. Louis swore that. They weren’t walking on eggshells. It was more like walking on plastic, that would bend and give a whole lot until it finally gave way and cracked under the pressure of Louis’ feet. It wasn’t weird. They were just…figuring it out. The process just might take a little longer.

 

So Louis put the bracelet back on, and took the airplane necklace out of the inside of his collar so everyone could see it. He felt brave, somehow. Maybe because he’d gotten over his stupid stubbornness, but either way blood was pumping through his veins and his heart was beating fast and he was smiling brightly.

 

With his newfound adrenaline pumping through him, he burst out into the hallway and thrust open the door to Zayn’s bedroom. He ignored that Liam was still buttoning his shirt back up in the corner and looked straight at Zayn. “I want a tattoo,” he proclaimed, loud and proud.

 

Zayn looked back at him, doubtfully. “Are you high?” From the corner Liam giggled, then hid his face back into his chest while he pretended to be very invested in buttoning his shirt.

 

Louis shook his head, “I’m not high, or drunk or otherwise impaired. I’m perfectly sober, and making a perfectly sober request for you to give me a tattoo,” he promised, “Wait, you brought your stuff, right?”

 

Zayn shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was doing, but got up and went over to his closet. He pulled out a black suitcase and tossed it onto his bed lightly. It opened to reveal rows upon rows of ink bottle and five tattoo machines. “I don’t leave home without it,” Zayn said, smiling down at his equipment like a proud father, “what do you want?”

 

Louis shrugged, his spur of the moment decision making hadn’t taken him that far yet. “Something pretty, I reckon.”

 

Zayn laughed, “there’s a whole lot that’s pretty that you wouldn’t want on your skin, mate,” he said, “I could give you some flower-y, princess-y shit if you give me free reign.”

 

“You won’t.”

 

“You’re right,” Zayn nodded, “I wouldn’t.” A pause washed over them as Zayn started to unpack his suitcase onto his bedside table and the armoire holding the TV. “Now where do you want it?”

 

“Don’t care,” Louis replied.

 

“Sure as hell you care,” Zayn forced, “You aren’t in the mood to get your forehead tattooed are you?”

 

“My arm then,” Louis said, thrusting out his left hand. The same one with his bracelet around the wrist.

 

Zayn nodded, “Deal.”

 

With that his machine gave a gentle _whirring_ to tell them it was in working order and Zayn guided him over to the overstuffed chair in the corner of his room to set to work. Liam lay back onto Zayn’s bed, over the mess of covers that were falling half off onto the floor and tucked one of Zayn’s black pillows behind his head as he watched the tattoo begin.

 

It felt like a scratch, a really bad one, but not unlike Lottie’s sharp nails when she got mad enough to scratch him until it broke his skin. The latex-y feel of Zayn’s glove against his skin was weirder. He figured he’d survive.

 

“Why’d you decide this, all of a sudden?” Zayn asked, eyes fixed on Louis’ skin as he sketched some swirling mess of lines around Louis’ wrist with a purple sharpie.

 

Louis shrugged –one armed so as not to disturb Zayn’s drawing- “We’re walking on plastic.” He said. Zayn lifted his pen, and Liam sat upright on the bed. They both gave him the same look. Louis sighed, and continued, “Like, Harry and I.” Still the look, “We aren’t walking on eggshells, just plastic, so things are okay, and I just feel _alive_ because of it.”

 

Liam cut in, “is this a Harry tattoo? Because you really shouldn’t get a tattoo for someone you barely know.”

 

Louis couldn’t help but scowl at the bandage on Liam’s upper arm. “What’s that then, Liam?” 

 

Liam shot a look down to his own arm, then shrugged, “fair enough.” 

 

“And anyways, it isn’t a Harry tattoo, it’s a me tattoo. I want a tattoo, and I’m feeling good enough about Harry that I can finally get one that wouldn’t make me sad for the rest of my life.”

 

Together, Zayn and Liam nodded. They were sickening. So fucking in sync and in love and bloody perfect.

 

“It should only take me like half an hour to do this,” Zayn said as the scratches came back with a biting vengeance, “maybe less if your skin takes ink well. You’re okay with black right? I wasn’t going to do colour.”

 

***

 

Zayn wrapped up his wrist, and once he decided it wouldn’t irritate the skin, he let Louis put his bracelet back on over it. He barely got a look at it before Zayn was wrapping it in gauze to protect it from the sun. Louis was pretty sure it was a rope. Either way, it was pretty as hell and Louis adored it. If he did say so himself, it was at least a hundred times better than Miles Seaman’s tree silhouette.

 

They walked to dinner together, all but Zayn bandaged up so it looked kind of like they’d just gotten into a massive fight. But they smiled all together, so it would be hard to think that they’d ever been mad at each other. They got to the dining hall early. Not on purpose, but because Louis’ skin had taken ink better than Zayn had expected and so they’d been finished with the tattoo ten minutes earlier than they’d budgeted for. That meant, much to Louis’ discontent, that they had to decide if they were going to take the empty seats right next to Harry, or pointedly snub him as he sat all by his lonesome.

 

Zayn and Liam stood still in the doorway, waiting for Louis’ cue. They both shot him curious looks, as if he were an animal in a circus, _what will he do next?_ “We’ll have to sit up front, won’t we?”

 

Zayn shrugged, “there’s nothing forcing you to, if you don’t want to.”

 

“He’ll send you both home if we don’t,” Louis reasoned.

 

Liam laughed, throwing his head back onto his shoulder like he couldn’t contain himself. “Just us two lowly spirits? You’ll be just fine.” Even if the words could have been biting, it was good natured, and afterwards Liam slapped his back so hard that he swayed like a sapling in a breeze.

 

Once Louis finally regained his balance, and withstood the embarrassment of looking up to see Harry looking straight at him and giggling so hard his eyes had squinted up, he turned to Zayn and Liam, “consider this a charity,” he told them and walked straight towards the head of the table.

 

Harry grinned at him as he sat down, but didn’t say a word. Once Liam and Zayn had sat across from him though, he pulled out a little slip of paper from his pocket, and handed it to Louis. Again, it was only the size of a notecard, and again it was made of that raggedy paper.

 

_Daniel Blackstein._

_He’s boring as anything._

_-Haz_

    Louis looked Harry straight in the eyes, his brows furrowed in the same question he’d had since that morning. “What do they mean?” he asked, because it was only the two of them –and Zayn and Liam.

 

Harry just smiled knowingly, “you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

 

“Why are you being so cryptic about it?” Louis asked, out right.

 

Harry giggled, “because it’s fun to see you confused.”

 

Louis reached over the table to shove his shoulder. “You’re a bully.”

 

Before he could sit back down though, Harry grabbed his shoulder to keep him close and fit his lips onto the shell of Louis’ ear, “I’m going to come to your room tonight, and then tomorrow we’re going to spend the whole day together. Deal?”

 

The heat of Harry’s breathe against his skin was enough to steal his voice away. He only nodded, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry burst into a grin. He pressed a smiling kiss onto Louis’ cheek.

 

“What’s wrong with your wrist?” he asked once he pulled away.

 

“Zayn gave me a tattoo,” Louis shrugged, nonchalant, but still grinning happily at Zayn across the table. Harry motioned for him to unwrap the bandages to reveal the twisting rope, much less red than it had been a half hour before when Zayn had first wrapped it.  

 

Without so much as a look, Harry grabbed his arm and held it up to his face to see it better. He took his time twisting his arm around to see the whole thing, beholding it like it was a diamond or a fine bottle of wine. He pushed the bracelet up his arm, clearly realizing that he had pit it back on, and Louis even caught a bit of a smile when he did. “It’s sick, love,” he exclaimed, and Louis couldn’t avoid the way Zayn’s eyebrows seemed to shoot so far up his forehead that Louis feared they might get struck there.

 

***

 

It was midnight when Louis started to think that maybe Harry wasn’t coming. He’d taken a bath in something Perrie had put together that smelled like lavender and he’d actually shaved his face, and maybe it was all for nothing.

 

“He isn’t going to show,” Louis said to Perrie, who was still in his closet hanging up his laundry (or at least she claimed it was his laundry, despite the fact that Louis had never seen much of it).

 

“Please,” Perrie scoffed, “He’ll be here any moment and you look fabulous, so if he doesn’t come soon I’ll get him myself. I put too much work into you for it to all go to waste.”

 

She had put a lot of work into this night. She’d changed the sheets only a couple of hours before, even though they’d been changed that morning and she’d set up some air infuser that made the room smell a lot less like body wash and a lot more like tangerines. She’d even picked out his pajamas, and because male lingerie didn’t exist (even though Louis was definitely not going to have sex tonight) she’d made a brand new pair of black briefs appear out of thin air and forced them on him.

 

“It’s fine, I’m just going to go to bed,” Louis shrugged, his disappointment impossible to hide.

 

“You will not!” Perrie insisted, coming out of his walk-in closet to sit down hard on his bed. “you’re going to sit here and look hot until his Royal Highness shows the fuck up and appreciates you!”

 

Louis laughed, “you’re angry.”

 

“I’m bloody livid!” she seethed, but couldn’t hold on much longer before she burst into giggled with him.

 

They stayed like that for a while, just laughing at the whole thing. The clock ticked past midnight and well into the next day and they kept on laughing. “This is so dumb,” Louis said eventually, “you probably want to get back home. Do you live here?”

 

Perrie nodded, “your bed is a whole lot comfier than mine, so I’m going to milk this for as long as I can. Hopefully long enough that we both fall asleep and I get to experience memory foam at its finest.”

 

Louis was about to open his mouth to speak again when a knock came on the door. Louis looked at Perrie tentatively, as if to ask whether or not he should open it. It seemed like a lot was riding on him opening the door and being what Harry wanted. But there was always something nagging him in his head to say that he couldn’t be. Harry wanted Wolf, who was dominant and aggressive and _looming._ Louis was none of the above. He wanted harry to kiss him softly and he liked his flower arrangements and his presents. He like to have Harry grab his face when they kissed and he liked to smell like lavender. He couldn’t be Wolf. Soon Harry would realize that, and the spell would be broken.

 

Perrie shoved him nearly off the bed and gave him a look as if to say _why in God’s name haven’t you opened the door yet?_

Harry had a bag over his shoulder. Louis wanted to choke. He wasn’t going to be what Harry wanted. He wasn’t, he wasn’t, he wasn’t. “Perrie,” Harry greeted, not moving from the doorway. She nodded. “Nice to see you.” It didn’t sound like he was, particularly, but Louis ignored it for the moment.

 

Perrie popped off the bed and with a pointed look at Louis said “I think I’ll be going now.” Before leaving the room and shutting the door soundly behind her.

 

Then they stood in front of each other, silent. “You have a bag,” Louis said, dumbly, because it was all he could think to say.

 

“I do,” Harry nodded.

 

“Why?” Louis asked, as neutrally as possible.

 

Harry set the bag down on the ground. “Because I don’t intend to do a walk of shame in my own home.”

 

He didn’t bother to let Louis respond then. He just grabbed the sides of Louis’ face with hands so large that they wrapped all the wall around to have his fingertips curl into the edges of Louis’ hair. He stared straight into Louis’ eyes all the way down to where their lips met.

 

He hadn’t expected that. Louis had expected Harry to kiss him at a certain point that night, but not right away! It was awfully bold of him. The surprise of it had momentarily paralyzed him, but Harry didn’t seem to notice that Louis wasn’t kissing him back until Louis’s hands came to his chest to push him away.

 

Harry looked confused. “I’m not going to have sex with you,” Louis told him, matter-of-factly.

 

“I know,” Harry said, still confused. “I didn’t assume you would…”

 

Louis barely even realized Harry had spoken, “I don’t know what you do with Wolf or Miles or whoever else you’re _with_. But I’m not just going to have sex with you and if that’s what I have to do to have you keep me around then it’s probably best to send me home now because…”

 

Harry cut him off then. “I didn’t expect you to sleep with me. I just said that.”

 

Now it was Louis’ turn to be confused. “You brought a bag.”

 

“So I don’t have to wear the same clothes tomorrow,” Harry told him, “it has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not we have sex tonight.”

 

Suddenly, something very strange washed over Louis. His logical mind knew that he should be feeling relieved by this, but instead he felt a bit upset. “Did you not want to have sex with me?”

 

Harry looked about as exasperated as Louis had expected him to. He knew he was being dumb, and yet he couldn’t stop himself. “For God’s sakes Louis,” he sighed, and when Louis looked at him expectantly, he threw his hands up in the air, “of course I want to have sex with you! But you literally just said that you didn’t want to and I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable about it.”

 

“Oh,” Louis nodded.

 

“Can I go back to kissing you, and definitely not having sex with you now?” Harry said, a half smile sneaking across his face as he looked down at Louis’ face. When he nodded, Harry fit his fingers into his hair against and pressed a careful kiss to his lips. “You’re cute,” he whispered into Louis’ lips.

 

With all the softness and innocence of Harry’s kiss, Louis bit back with only ferocity. Just because he didn’t want to have actual sex with Harry didn’t mean that he was going to be happy with kissing him goodnight and sending him off to bed. He rose onto his tip toes to catch his lips properly, and pulled Harry’s head down to his harder, so that he couldn’t pull away for even a moment. Harry’s new, shorter hair left less to hold onto, but still provided a perfect place for Louis to weave his fingers with it and tug until Harry gave in and kissed him harder.

 

He could feel Harry’s tongue at the front of his mouth, waiting for his permission. As if to give up, Louis walked them backwards towards his bed. And just as his knees hit the comforter, Harry pulled his head in just the right way to illicit a soft moan from his lips. Louis tried his best to stay in the moment, but from the moment on he could only wonder if the walls of his room were particularly thin and if the boys to the left and right of his room could hear him making out with Harry.

 

Harry could tell something was wrong, “I can hear you thinking,” he said, pulling off to look into Louis’ eyes, “is this about the sex thing again? Because I promise you I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to.”

 

Louis shook his head, “it isn’t about that.” And then he laughed because the idea of explaining what he was actually thinking to Harry was entirely laughable. “I was just worried that someone would hear us, like through the wall or something.”

 

Harry went to kiss around the back of his ear, breathing hot onto his skin and peppering little bursts of wet against him like little raindrops on a summer evening when it rains just a little and you can’t be bothered to care. That was a dumb analogy. “Everyone’s asleep. It’s interview day tomorrow, so everyone’s getting their beauty sleep.” He whispered, then went back to kissing soft pecks up and down the sides of Louis’ face.

 

‘And you don’t want me to look pretty?” Louis teased, catching Harry’s lips briefly as they passed over his face from one side to the other. Bravely, he grabbed hold of the buttons on Harry’s shirt and popped open the first two.

 

Harry didn’t seem to notice his shirt, and instead busied himself with nipping at Louis’ neck, not enough to leave a mark, but enough to have him hardening in his pants. “You’re always pretty,” Harry said, lowly, “but you aren’t interviewing tomorrow anyways, because you’ll be with me.”

 

“Hmm,” Louis mused, unbuttoning another two buttons so that nearly all of Harry’s chest was exposed. Then Harry seemed to wrap around him, enveloping him in that intoxicating _thing_ that was Harry.  He eased Louis back onto the bed, and for a moment leaned over him, between his legs, before climbing on top of him without breaking their kiss. He set his arms on either side of Louis’ head, suspending himself just far enough above that Louis had to chase his lips with every touch. He felt his way down the smoothness of his chest, fingertips capturing every dip in his skin until he finally caught onto Harry’s shirt.

 

Their kiss broke as Louis pulled desperately at it, until the shirt came loose from Harry’s dress pants and Harry let out something of a chuckle while Louis finished with undoing his buttons. The sides of his shirt fell open to reveal the big butterfly tattoo on Harry’s chest. He didn’t resist the urge to reach out and touch it.

 

Harry waited for a moment, allowing Louis to take his time with his skin. Then, he looked Louis up and down and smiled as he sighed, “I’d never seen anyone look sexy in PJs until you.”

 

Louis leaned up into a kiss first before tossing his head back onto the sheets and teasing, “I’ll have you know that these are the very best PJs money can pay for, all financed by your family, so I’ll take it that your parents wanted me to look hot.”

 

Harry’s face scrunched up like he’d smelt something awful, “don’t talk about my parents!” he exclaimed, “you’re killing the mood.” Even so, he still leaned down to kiss Louis again, this time leaning onto one elbow and using his free hand to play with the hem of Louis’ shirt.

 

They both had to sit up in order for Louis to pull the pajama shirt over his head. Harry rolled off where he was seated on Louis’ thighs and pulled at the sleeves of his own shirt before tossing it into a pile with Louis’. Then, in some move of either bravery or entitlement, Harry undid his belt and let it unfurl like a snake around his waist and slither into the pile too. Then he. Shimmered from his pants and let them fall too. He was wearing underwear, thankfully. But still it was jarring to see him so naked. Louis hadn’t seen his that naked before. Even in the shelter –when what Louis had decided was insanity caused by confinement took over- he had only seen the vaguest outline of cock.

 

Louis felt overdressed after that, so he shucked off his pajama pants too, and let Harry have a good look at the briefs Perrie had so painstakingly picked out. He felt that her work deserved to be appreciated.  

 

Harry took one look at him, and with a whispered “ _fuck_ ” under his breath he grabbed both of Louis’ hips and hauled him into his lap. Even without his clothes on, Harry was warm against Louis’ skin, his thighs seemed to radiate heat from where they touched the insides of his. Not in a passionate, caught-in-the-moment kind of way, but rather in a comforting, _cozy_ kind of way. Harry let his hand rest at the small of his back, just brushing the band of his briefs with the tips of his fingers.

 

Louis hadn’t kissed many people in his life. In fact, he’d kissed two. One of which was currently attacking his mouth like it was the first meal he’d had in a week. The other was Eleanor, who he’d taken to prom after his Gay Awakening and had been incredibly awkward to explain to her that he _just wasn’t into her_ while toeing a careful line of not revealing his all consuming gayness to her and not making her feel bad about it. He guessed that Eleanor at least understood now why he hadn’t been invested in their relationship. He hoped it made her feel better, and not worse. Anyways, he’d only kissed two people, and so he had very little knowledge of how one was meant to make out with someone. Namely, he was unsure of where he was meant to put his hands. Hair seemed to be a consistently safe bet, but it was certainly not the most exciting thing, and Harry had this habit of rubbing circles into his skin wherever he touched, was Louis meant to be doing that? No one had ever explained it to him. Logically, he knew that the trick to being a satisfying partner was communication, but he was also a million times too much of a coward to actually say something.

 

So, he decided it best to play it safe, and thread his fingers into Harry’s hair. He let Harry’s tongue do most of the work too, because he didn’t want to seem too forward. When he feared that perhaps he wasn’t giving back as much as Harry was putting in, he’d sit taller in Harry’s lap, and lean his neck back until Harry was gasping at kisses like his life depended on it.

 

It wasn’t that Louis was afraid of going any further, it was just that he was terrified. The whole idea of it was just too much. He’d never given a blowjob before, hell he’d never even gotten one! And here he was on the precipice of what was obviously blowjob territory with no clue of what he was meant to do. It seemed only fair that he gave the Prince of England head, instead of the other way around, and maybe that was some dumb misconception about their power imbalance, but it seemed true, and he was scared.

 

Again, _communication._ He pulled away from the kiss, and looked Harry straight in eye, even as his face turned red, and said, “I’ve never given a blowjob before, and I have no clue how to.”

 

He half expected Harry to laugh, or at least smile, but he looked awfully solemn. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Harry told him earnestly, “I hope you know that.”

 

Louis nodded, and Harry continued rubbing little circles into his back, soft and caring. “I feel like I should,” Louis admitted.

 

“Well don’t,” he promised. He stroked up and down Louis’ back, long strokes with his warm hands. “I couldn’t care less if we have sex, or if you blow me or if I blow you. I’m happy right here, okay? Just like this.”

 

Louis nodded, feeling a bit defeated by himself. “I can do it, though.”

 

Harry smiled a bit, and nodded a few too many times, “I know you can, trust me, I don’t doubt it.” He let out a little chuckle, “but another night, yeah?”

 

Somewhere deep inside him, Louis was more than thankful for that. Even without a cock down his throat, he’d been feeling an awful lot like he was going to gag at the thought of doing terribly. But he also wanted to cry, because he felt so terribly about being a total failure of a sexual partner by not doing anything at all. Wolf had probably blown Harry thousands of times, and here Louis was being a coward!

 

“C’mon,” Harry coaxed, moving them to lie down with their heads on the pillows. “I have the best date on earth planned and we need our beauty sleep.” Carefully, Harry wrapped himself around Louis, throwing a leg over his and pulled him close with his arms around his waist.

 

As they drifted off to sleep, Louis couldn’t help but whisper, “I’m sorry.”

 

Harry just kissed his cheek softly and whispered straight into his ear, “nothing to be sorry about love, I’m perfectly happy with this, just the way it is.”

 

***

 

Louis awoke the next morning to the sound of a door opening. Harry was still all over him, with his legs entangled in Louis’ and his arms wrapped soundly around his waist. Louis moved only slightly, just enough to see who was at the door, hoping to keep Harry breathing heavily at his side.

 

Perrie looked smug as she leaned against the door. Louis lifted the slightest hand to give her half a wave, a smile blooming on his face as he did. Perrie waved back looking pleased with herself. She came to his side, and knelt down to speak to him in a low voice, “It’s nearly 9am, and I thought I might warn you that the entire hall is crawling with cameramen. They seem to have caught wind that the Prince is not in his room.”

 

Harry groaned in his sleep and crawled up Louis’ body to hook his chin over Louis’ shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile at the feeling of Harry blanketing him, nuzzling him as if he wanted to burrow into his skin. It was cute. He was snapped back into reality when he met Perrie’s worried eyes again. “Well what am I meant to do?”

 

Perrie shrugged, “You’ll have to sneak him out, somehow.”

 

Louis had seen enough spy movies to know that sneaking someone out of anywhere generally ended rather badly. He also knew that Harry wouldn’t fit in the ventilation system. Rather unfortunately, Louis’ second floor bedroom only supplied two possible exits then, the window, and the door. Surely lowering the Prince out of a second floor window would gather more attention than him leaving through the front door, but it would still be plastered over every gossip magazine cover tomorrow either way. “Can you cause a distraction?” Louis asked, because that was the only thing in spy movies that ever seemed to work.

 

“Like what?” Perrie asked incredulously.

 

“I don’t know!” Louis exclaimed, a bit too loud that it caused Harry to stir in his sleep. Not enough to wake him, but enough for him to roll away from where he’d been pressed up against Louis only to flail around until he caught hold of him again and returned to where he’d been lying before. “Fake illness, say that you’ve seen something absolutely scandalous at the end of the hall.”

 

“Fine,” Perrie said, pouting all the way. “But you’ve got to get Lover Boy over there awake and dressed before I do.”

 

They both looked at Harry for a moment, and then collectively at his naked chest, and then at the bare leg slung over the duvet.

 

“He’s not-“ Louis started and cut himself off, “we’re not. We didn’t-“

 

Perrie just blushed and walked towards the door. “I’ll wait outside, while you two get, uh, decent.”

 

Exasperatedly, Louis flopped his head back onto Harry’s chest. He could feel that he’d had woken him as his breathing changed from the low, labouring breaths of sleep into faster, more deliberate breaths of wakefulness. “My maid thinks we had wild sex last night,” he said what Harry’s hand moved to rest on his own.

 

“What a tragedy that is,” Harry teased, leaning down to kiss the very top of Louis’ head.

 

“Also the entire hall is filled with cameramen looking for you, by the way.” Louis told him, flipped onto his stomach to lie below Harry, staring up at his face from his chest. “Perrie’s going to cause a distraction, for you to sneak out, but you’ve got to get dressed first.”

 

Harry looked down at him, confused. When his pulled his head in to make eye contact he gave himself a little double chin. Louis tried not to giggle. “Why can’t we just walk out the door?” he asked.

 

“Then everyone will think that we had wild sex last night and it’ll cause a massive scandal.” Louis reasoned, only thinking of the rather awkward phone call he would inevitably receive from his worried mother.

 

“Do you care?” Harry asked, “do you not want people to think that I favour you?” he asked after a few moments and Louis was struck with an overpowering sense of the fact that he _did_ want people to think that Harry liked him best.

 

“I just think it’s a bit weird, to have the entire world think we slept together,” Louis reasoned.

 

“Everyone already thinks we slept together,” Harry replied, and when Louis looked lost he explained, “no one believes that I gave you that bracelet because you caught my phone from a balcony. Honestly it seems rather far fetched to me too, and I was there.”

 

Louis had nearly forgotten about the first night they had spent together, when Harry had sat in the chair across from his bed and they’d talked about his tattoos and his life. That was when Louis lost his jealousy. That was when Louis first realized that Harry was a good man, and he’d only been proving that ever since. “So,” he started, treading carefully, “the entire world thinks I’m a total whore who slept with you the very first night of the selection?”

 

“No!” Harry exclaimed, “the entire world thinks I played favourites less than twenty-four hours in.” He eased Louis off his chest then and got out of bed to go towards his bag, still dropped by the door from last night. “Come on, we’ve got a date to get to.”

 

So, they got dressed side by side, and once it was all said and done they both walked out the door of Louis’ room hand in hand like they were Kardashians mobbed by paparazzi, and once they reached the end of the hall, they took off running like little kids in an amusement park to sprint straight through the palace, directly through the centre of a tour group stood in front of the portrait of some fat, old royal and into the garage, when Harry let him pick out any car of his choosing. They drove off into London without a single member of security, feeling like villains in the middle of a car chase, laughing all the way.  

 

Harry took them on the least royal date of all, and Louis adored it. They drove his fancy vintage car through the streets, catching the eyes of people as they thought _Is that the Prince? Why it couldn’t be the Prince driving his own car through the city by himself?_ And laughing at them as they shook their heads as if to clear their eyes of the hallucination they had conjured up. Then they waltzed into a pub and ordered cheap beers while the bartender looked them over one too many times as if trying to remember how he knew the two of them. He even checked their IDs, and Harry pulled one out of thin air. Louis had always imagined that Harry wouldn’t even have been issued an ID when he turned 18, but there it was, proclaiming him to be twenty-one years old and the Prince of England. The bartender then apologized about fifteen times and promised their drinks to be on the house. A funny thing it was to be in the presence of a royal, when his drinks were bought and his hand was shaken and people seemed to cower away from him in sheer awe of what he was. It was hard to have a conversation with him when people were constantly coming to inquire if he was really the Prince of England, as if they were expecting him to walk around every second of life with a crown atop his head to identify himself, but Louis couldn’t find it in himself to care because just being with Harry was enough. He’d also been promised dinner at some fancy restaurant, so he didn’t mind if his date was stolen away for a few minutes.

 

“This is the best,” Louis sighed absently as they drove through the streets when the sun began to set. Harry’s skin was cast in an orange glow, faint streaks of pink and purple brushed over his face like paint strokes in a Monet piece. Louis leaned his head against the half open window and looked at Harry’s face, blossoming into a sizeable grin.

 

“It is, isn’t it?” Harry replied, eyes fixed on the road ahead, but every so often he would glance over at Louis and smile bright with his eyes shining with dying sunset light and his teeth pearly white. How lovely it was to be alone with him.

 

“Could we stay here, in this car, forever?” Louis wondered, not even meaning to say it out loud but not caring all that much when it was out in the air. Harry stopped at a red light, and while they waited he just smiled bigger and bigger until his smile veered off to one side and it became a smirk.

 

“No,” Harry admitted, “but we can stay out tonight, the palace is a bit suffocating now. Maybe we can do an unannounced club appearance.”

 

Louis scoffed, “and share you with drunk girls who think they can turn you straight? I think not!”

 

“We’ll go to a gay club then,” Harry reasoned, “at least then all the straight girls will know that I’m going home with you.” He reached over a set a hand on Louis’ shoulder, jostling him as they drove.

 

Louis just nodded, and let Harry drive him into the expensive part of town towards a fancy French restaurant, only to discover it was completely empty and bought out just for them.

 

***

 

 

 

He ate too much. Stuffing himself with rich French food was probably not the best thing for his health, and he certainly hadn’t helped himself by washing it all down with a few too many glasses of wine.

 

By the time they left the restaurant, Louis was a bit of a giggling mess, and Harry had had to call in one of his drivers to drive them over to the club. Having them both in the backseat however, gave Louis the perfect opportunity to grab Harry by the back of the neck and kiss him hard as they sped through the city in Harry’s vintage convertible. The wind whipped through his hair as they drove and even against Harry’s mouth he couldn’t help but laugh and anything and everything as they seemed to float through London.

 

The floated through the line in front of the club too. One flash of Harry’s perfect smile and they were being waved through with the honest shock on everyone behind them, paralyzing them too much to complain. The room was as dark as club always were, and even the VIP section (which, mind you, they hadn’t requested but had been led to anyways) was a little bit grotty. But Louis couldn’t mind when the bass was pumping loud enough to echo in his bones and he was being fed a steady diet of tasty pink drinks that tasted a dangerous amount like juice.

 

When they danced, Harry held him close against his hips and didn’t even try to avoid grinding his cock into Louis’ ass. He kept his mouth on his neck, sucking a deep purple mark onto his skin and sometimes only hovering above it, anticipating when he would touch again. Harry led him through the music, and let his hands run from just inches from his cock right up to brushing briskly over his nipples through his shirt. Even in front of him, Louis could see that he was giving everyone very pointed looks any time they made a move towards him, and Louis didn’t love it, he swore.

 

Somewhere between basking in the glory, he turned himself around in Harry’s arms and kissed him hard as the beat dropped. Had he had maybe even one less pink drink, Louis would have thought about the fact that it would be photographed and spread all over the internet before they’d even left the club, he wouldn’t have returned to the ground from his tip-toes and jerked his head towards the back of the club with only the question of, “toilets?”

 

Perhaps Harry was too drunk to think too, because he didn’t hesitate in grabbed Louis’ hand and leading them both towards the bathroom. Even among the flashes of IPhone cameras, he persisted in leading them both into the men’s bathroom, and then –acting the snobbiest Louis had ever seen him- proceeded to stare at the two or three men inside until they left rather quickly, cowering all the way.

 

Harry led them both into the handicap stall –just in case- and as if they had never stopped kissing, he was on him again. Louis let him toss his brand new blazer onto the dirty club-bathroom floor, too drunk to think about how absolutely vile it must be, and dropped Harry’s there too, just beside his. Harry settled his legs into a V, leaning against the wall and letting Louis stand between them. Louis noted that he tasted like cranberry juice, and suddenly realized that he hadn’t even taken note of what Harry’s drink of choice was. “What were you drinking?” Louis asked, because it had been distracting him from kissing Harry’s soft lips.

 

“Vodka Cranberry,” Harry replied. Louis just nodded and return to his lips.

 

Maybe it was overconfidence, and maybe it was alcohol, but he was struck with a sudden bought of courage that found him on his knees. And there he was, staring at the button of Harry’s dress pants, wondering if he even knew how to undo it –despite the fact that he owned the exact same pair of pants. He cast a careful look up at Harry, perhaps in hopes of finding some form of approval in his eyes. “You’ll have to walk me through it,” Louis said, quietly.

 

He looked up at Harry again, and all he got in return was a nod. That was all he needed. Carefully, he popped out the button to Harry’s pants and looked at the grey briefs he’d seen him change into that morning –well, he’d seen Harry come out of the bathroom wearing them, because they weren’t quite at the point of nudity in their relationship. And then he was faced with another, incredibly embarrassing dilemma, was he meant to pulled Harry’s pants down completely, and if not, was he meant to take only his cock out of his briefs or his balls too? That was possibly the most unsexy thing he had ever thought in his life.

 

Eventually Harry took matters into his own hands, and although it would have killed the mood to thank him, Louis hoped he knew how much he appreciated it. Being faced with a cock was a lot more daunting than he had thought it would be. Owning one himself, he’d figured that the sight of a hard cock wouldn’t throw him so much, but something about this being Harry’s and this being something he would be putting in his mouth, made it seem so much more foreign.

 

Carefully, Louis put a hand around the shaft, and gave it a few slow and cautious strokes. Harry moved somehow, but Louis couldn’t discern whether it was positive or negative in nature. So, took a breathe, then took Harry into his mouth. He was somehow bigger than he had expected, or maybe he’d overestimated the size of his mouth. He took a breath through his nose, as if to check that he could still breath with a cock in his mouth, then set himself about figuring out the art of sucking someone off in a bar bathroom.

 

He remembered vaguely from secondary school (behind the school while smoking cigarettes) that someone of the boys had always said that focusing on the head or the base felt that best, but use of tongue was the most important thing overall. He couldn’t fathom taking in all of Harry down to the base, so he focussed on the head of his cock, swirling his tongue around and over until Harry’s leg was jerking beside him and he was letting very quiet sounds escape his lips.

 

He’d seen enough porn to know that you were meant to go up and down, like you were fucking, except the other way around. He tried to relax his throat as he took as much of Harry as he could before it hit the back of his throat and he nearly gagged –at which point he’d retreat back to the safety of just the head. He did it again, and again, until Harry’s fingertips had threaded through his hair and were pushing down on his skull to hold him somewhere near the middle, swirling his tongue around the shaft diligently.

 

When he needed a break, he let Harry jerk himself off near his lips, because he figured he was much more adept at getting himself off than Louis. And when he was ready, he pulled Louis’ head back down and filled his mouth with his come, hot and bitter and so much that he feared it may never stop.

 

And then, because Louis was basically choking, and less than concerned about his perceived sexiness, he turned around and spat straight into the toilet.

 

***

 

They giggled their way into the palace, completely dead at well after two in the morning save for a couple of night guards who knew to avert their eyes. He led Louis back up to his room, stumbling to and froe up the large marble steps. It was silly and giddy and completely drunk off the two drinks they had each before they’d left.

 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Louis said, teetering to one side then the other, when they reached the door to his room and Harry had tried to push in. “You can’t stay here.” He felt like he was stage whispering, pretending to be quiet when really he was yelling, and maybe that was an illusion put on my alcohol, or maybe it was a real symptom of drunkenness, he couldn’t tell.

 

Harry looked back at him, brow furrow, “Why not? I thought we were-”

 

“Because if you come out of my room tomorrow morning everyone will think we’ve been having a two-day sex-fest!” Louis exclaimed, keeping his voice as low as possible, although the echoed sounds of _sex-fest_ hit the walls and jumped back to him to tell him that he wasn’t quite as quiet as he thought.

 

“Lou,” Harry whispered, smiling all the way, “that’s what we’ve been doing.” And then he giggled like a schoolboy and shoved his nose into Louis’ cheek like it was meant to be a kiss but he couldn’t quite maneuver his face the right way  

 

  
“Well you can’t let everyone know that!” Louis exclaimed, throwing his arms around Harry’s shoulder and pressing their bodies together because he wanted to feel Harry’s heat through his shirt.

 

Harry sighed and turned his head to nestle into the crook of his neck, kissing little pecks along his jawbone and the soft skin just under it, “Then come upstairs,” he said, kissing up behind Louis’ ear just how he liked it, and Louis figured that he must’ve picked up on that in the time they’d spent together. “No one will see you up there. The cameras aren’t even allowed there.” He added, as if to butter Louis up to it, “I just want to cuddle you” he said, rubbing small circles into his hips to give him a sneak peak.  “Please,” he whined, kissing at Louis’ side, “pretty please.” And the Prince was never meant to beg.

 

Louis sighed, and although he knew that he shouldn’t, he couldn’t find the will power within himself to say no to Harry’s sweet kissing and touching. “Fine,” he said, as if it would be a real hardship to do so, “just let me grab some clothes.” And he moved towards the doorknob, languidly and it seemed to be further away than it was meant to be.

 

“No,” Harry whined, blocking his way into the room, “I’ll call to have Perrie do it tomorrow, or Mary Ellen, if you prefer.” Even as he said it he let out a chuckle.

 

“No!” Louis exclaimed, “Not Mary Ellen!”

 

Harry laughed and nodded along, “yeah, she’s a total killjoy. You know she used to force me to do up all the buttons on my shirts? Needless to say, I did the fuck away with her.”

 

***

 

Louis woke up the next morning and took his first proper look at Harry’s room. It was less of a room and more of a complex, or a collection of rooms, because he had his own bathroom, and a sitting room before his bedroom and a television room after that.

 

In stark contrast to the rest of the palace, which was painted the same shade of teal with little glossy accents of iridescence embroidered in flowery patterns, Harry’s room was all dark wood and maroon, like a vampire’s lair, or more fittingly: the room of a teenage royal who’d long outgrown it.

 

Polaroid pictures lined one of the walls. And they were too far to see, so they formed a sort of abstract mosaic of little coloured splotches in every direction. _He must have an interest in photography_ , he wondered, then looking more at the hundreds of glimpses, _he must’ve at some point_. He’d never really thought that Harry would have hobbies, aside from partying and being rich as anything, which weren’t really hobbies in the traditional sense. He figured he ought to ask him, maybe get to know him better than being _Harry._

 

When Harry stirred beside him, the light had flooded through the curtains and lit the room with sun and _day._ Harry smiled at him, a beam of sunlight casting across his face like that David Bowie album cover. They just lay there, silently staring at the other, until it became too hard to see with the sun blinding their eyes.

 

“Are we ever going to leave?” Louis asked, not really meaning even the question.

 

Harry shook his head, “Not until we get dragged out, kicking and screaming all the way.” Then he pressed a quick kiss to Louis’ lips.

 

“They’ll have reported us missing before then, and then I’ll get a very angry call from my mother and she might come all the way down to London and drag me back to Yorkshire.” Louis threatened.

 

Harry lunged, arms around his waist and pulled him up off the bed and onto his chest like he was a petulant child not wanting to share his teddy bear. “Nope, nope nope,” he whispered into Louis’ ear from behind, “I’ll pull the Prince Card if she does that, and we all know that the Prince Card is far more powerful than even your mum. “

 

Louis snorted, “try saying that to my mum.”

 

“Oh,” Harry giggled, “I will. At the Autumn Ball, that’ll make a good impression for sure.”

 

Louis sat up, “she’s coming to the Autumn Ball?”

 

Harry furrowed his brow, “of course!” he exclaimed, “your family is always invited. I don’t know how your littler sisters will feel about it, and it’ll probably go way past their bedtimes, but we’ll have rooms for them so they older ones should enjoy it. Plus, I’m sure your mother will want to dance with your father.”

 

Louis’ eyes shot open, he’d just been doused in ice water, whole buckets of it. The water kept coming, like a rain cloud had followed him into the room, soaking him to the bone and frosting him in the uncomfortableness of coming out of a hot shower to find that you forgot your towel and have to leave the toastiness of the bathroom to venture out into the bristling cold of your bedroom. “My-“ he stuttered, “my father?”

 

“Yeah,” Harry said, as if he didn’t understand, and of course he wouldn’t. “We invited everyone’s family.”

 

“You have to uninvited my father, though,” Louis insisted.

 

“We can’t-“ Harry said, “we’ve already mailed the invites.”

 

“Fuck!” Louis exclaimed, “Fuck, fuck fuck!”

 

“You’ve got to tell me what’s so bad about him,” Harry said, placing a soothing hand on Louis’ shoulder, “I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

 

Louis sighed, “My father’s a fucking drug addict! And he’ll come in here and ruin it all! He’ll ruin all of this clean, nice, _thing_ that I’ve got for myself for the first time ever! He’ll ruin it all!”

 

Harry gathered Louis up into a hug, like a big pile of unconnected pieces to put back together. Like a broken Lego set, or the child who broke it. Louis felt useless, he felt like a big pile of goo with nothing holing it together any longer. Instead, he just let himself cry for a while, shaking in Harry’s big arms and just sat there.

 

“It’s okay<’ Harry whispered, quiet and soothing, “it’ll be okay. I’ll make it okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments <3


	8. Week 5: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is shorter (6k) instead of our regularly scheduled 10k, because I didn't want go force everyone to wait a full month for a chapter full of filler. I'll make up for it with at least 14k next time :)

“Did I tell you that I had a dream about you the other day?” Harry asked late Thursday night. He lay beside Louis, playing with his hair and staring up and the ceiling. Louis turned just enough to see the little happy smile on his face. 

“What was it about?” Louis asked, thumbing a little circle into Harry’s sternum. This was what Louis had always thought being in love was like. Lazy weeknights, just enjoying each other’s company, feeling like the whole world was alight and dark at the same time. But, Louis wasn’t in love with Harry. That was okay, though. 

He’d left that morning, to go on a date with someone Louis hadn’t cared to remember the name of, possibly out of jealousy, but mostly because it was seven in the morning and he was too tired to take anything to mind from their goodbye except the feeling of Harry’s lips on his cheek. Louis’ pillow smelt like his silly, grapefruit shampoo and his distinctly boy-ish aftershave. He couldn’t help but sleep with it up against his body after that, inhaling Harry into his lungs until he could pretend it was him enough that when he awoke a couple of hours later, he reached out expecting a handful of dark hair or the soft peach-fuzz of skin only to find cotton. He’d laid there for a while after that, disappointed that he was surrounded by air so distinctly Harry’s only to have it be false. He tried to ignore that angry feeling in his stomach. The one that beat with the reminder that Harry wasn’t there because he was with someone else, maybe kissing someone else, maybe he would be sliding out of bed tomorrow morning with someone else, filling their bedroom with his grapefruit shampoo and aftershave advertised as pinewood and spearmint and musk –as if that was a thing to be bottled. 

Harry let out a little laugh, like he couldn’t believe he was really about to tell Louis about such a silly dream. ‘We were in the grocery store.” 

Louis sat up, enough that he could see Harry’s eyes, but still rest his weight on his elbow and stroke Harry’s chest. “Have you even been in a grocery store?” It struck Louis as an awfully strange thought –that a person could have never been in a grocery store- but it seemed more likely than Harry ever buying a half carton of eggs and Flavour Aid on his way back to the palace. 

“I have!” Harry insisted, making a face that clearly said he actually hadn’t. “It was a charity event, okay.” He admitted after a couple of moments. Louis laughed at that, and leaned in quickly to kiss him. 

“Tell me more about this grocery store dream.” Louis smiled, drunk on his relaxed, lazy evening. The lights of London streamed through his open windows, bright and golden. If Louis turned away, he could just catch the residual glow, and pretend that they were surrounded by thousands of fireflies. 

Harry leaned up on his arms to kiss Louis back, then fell onto the pillows again. “We were shopping for something, I don’t remember what, but it was incredibly important, like you were dragging me around the whole place to get it. And halfway through we ended up with this little kid in our cart –you know how in dreams things just appear out of nowhere? He just kind of sat there while you dragged us around. And I think I must’ve been watching footie before I went to bed because instead of the announcer saying like ‘clean up in aisle 3’ it was ‘Ramsey to Walcott, Walcott to Sanchez’, it was weird.” 

“Seems like a good dream.” Louis mused. Something about the little boy stuck to his brain a little too sticky. He imagined that he must’ve looked like Harry, like a little version of him, with his long hair and those Hawaiian shirts –of which he seemed to have an endless supply. 

“It was.” Harry nodded. 

“You must want kids, right?” Louis asked, hoping that it didn’t come off to presumptuous. 

Harry nodded, a little bit hesitant. “I’ve got to have them.” 

“I didn’t ask if you had to have them. Do you want them?” Louis asked again, worried of what Harry’s response would be. Louis loved babies, lived for them even. He couldn’t imagine a life where he didn’t have them, and maybe that was why being gay had been so difficult to come to terms with. Being gay made having a baby a whole lot harder, and a hell of a lot more expensive –money Louis didn’t have to spend. 

Harry thought for a moment, then turned to catch Louis’ lips with his fingertips on his jawbone. “Yeah,” he said, “I do.” 

Louis let them go silent for a while, and let Harry press little kisses to his lips, not enough to catch onto, but enough for him to know that he was there. Eventually, he threaded his fingers into Harry’s short hair and tugged until he could pull Harry’s lips against him and kiss him proper and deep and long. Harry grabbed him by the waist next, and hauled him into his lap, seating up to meet his mouth and breath heavy breathes out of his nose. Louis swore he could drown in Harry’s breath sometimes. 

There was a clear intention to go further in Harry’s kiss. He was committed, pulling Louis in with his hands, and his mouth and his smell. Louis wanted to go further too. He wanted to feel the weight of Harry on his tongue again, feel his fill his mouth, feel him shutter because of _Louis_. But Louis wasn’t ready to do that when he still didn’t feel that Harry was _his_.

“How was you date today?” he asked. Not nonchalant, not even interested, but expectant. He wanted Harry to know that his answer changed things, that his answer meant something. 

Harry sighed, and maneuvered Louis off his legs. He bent over the side of the bed to pick up the blazer he’d dropped there when he’d returned. He dug into the inner pocket to pull out another one of his little bits of paper. 

Tony Russo,  
Is it terrible that I didn’t know his name until this morning?  
-Haz 

“What on earth is with you and these notes?” Louis asked, exasperated but also amused. “Is this who you’re sending home?” he asked, searching for the answer in Harry’s eyes –he was only met with squinting lids and a barely contained grin. “Or is it who you’re keeping, because if it is, let me remind you that you’re in my bed right now and I’ve yet to get one with my name on it.” 

Harry shrugged, his silly, sneaky grin overtaking his face in shades of bright gold and pink. Sometimes Louis swore that when he smiled, Harry glittered like a vampire in the sun –even though that was a terrible analogy. “If that’s who I’m keeping, I’m obviously not particularly impressed with the prospects, eh?” Harry chuckled. It was true that all he had said about each of the boys who had been named on his notecards was that they were either forgettable, boring, or Harry’s father’s choice. The connection wasn’t particularly difficult to make. 

“Why’re you telling me then?” Louis asked. 

Harry leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “You said, in the bomb shelter, that lying by omission was still lying.” He said, as if that was an answer to it all. “I’m meant to be honest with you, and that means no surprises.” 

“So when you send me home, you’ll give me a little note with the reason on it?” Louis asked, lighthearted, at least he’d meant it to be. 

Harry just stared at him for a moment, as if struggling to find a response. Louis hadn’t meant to make it so heavy in the room. He’d been meaning to make a joke, but by the lost, nearly hurt, look on Harry’s face, it hadn’t hit its mark. He expected Harry to say something about it, but instead he just leaned up onto his elbow and cupped his other hand around Louis’ jaw. He looked into Louis’ eyes too, long enough for Louis to find the familiar golden flecks in his irises and the little bits of blue scattered there. Perhaps it was a testament to how often they just looked at each other, but Louis could name every shade in Harry’s eyes. They were green, a precise, pretty green, like that of a pine forest just as afternoon sun filters through the needles. His pupils were surrounded by a ring of gold, or copper maybe –Louis didn’t know his metals all that well. They were bright and wondrous in the way a child’s were. 

Harry kissed him softly, and Louis responded easily. The contact no longer required any thought. Kissing was relaxed and lazy and simple. As lovely as it all was, Louis couldn’t help but know that Harry hadn’t answered him. Not that he wasn’t confident that he was sticking around for another week. After all, he’d already sent out invitations to Louis’ family for the Autumn Ball. It would be awfully embarrassing if his family showed up next weekend only to find that their son was on a flight back home.

He let Harry kiss him a while longer, hands holding him tightly around the waist and maneuvering him between strong thighs. If Louis hadn’t been thinking about it at that very moment, he might have let Harry stay, and have fallen asleep satisfyingly held with his arms wrapped all the way around his body and Harry’s warm breath on his neck. If he hadn’t remembered the call he’d had with his mother that morning –after Harry had left to see Tony Russo- he might have let him stay. 

“You can’t sleep here tonight,” he said, pulling off of Harry’s mouth to say it. 

“I know,” Harry said, punctuated by a quick kiss on his cheek. “Doesn’t mean I can’t stick around a little bit longer.” 

They lay beside each other after that, staring up at the ceiling, and letting the bright white light from the fixture sting their eyes until their vision was so covered in spots that they could barely see. Harry hooked his pinky finger under Louis’, but didn’t make any other move to hold his hand. 

“Thirteen weeks isn’t very long,” Louis said after a while of silently holding onto Harry’s finger. 

“How do you know?” Harry asked, “you’ve only been here for five of them,” He had turned to look at Louis then, green eyes open and expectant. 

“Well, people date for years and years before getting married, and we’re now more than a third into your courting period, and at the end of it you’re going to be married. You’re only twenty-one after all. It isn’t like people are getting married left and right at your age.” Louis reasoned. 

“Every royal my age is married or nearly married,” he corrected, and that was an absolutely terrifying thought. No wonder royals seemed universally unhappy in their marriages. That begged the question then, would Harry be unhappy in his marriage? It was more than obvious that Louis had come to care for him an awful lot, but just because he felt that way at the moment didn’t mean that he would feel the same in a few years, or even a few months. Whoever Harry ended up with wouldn’t necessary love him forever. Twenty-one was young to fall in love forever. And yet they were both here, looking to fall in love in eight more weeks. 

“And how many of them happily?” Louis wondered aloud. Perhaps not the best thing to ask in their context, but he couldn’t help but satisfy his desire to know. 

“One,” Harry said without a moment’s hesitation. “The Prince of Liechtenstein and his wife. They’re the sort of people who are so in love that it’s painful to be around them. They have a joint Instagram and post pictures of their adorable little baby,” he explained, then he pulled out his phone to show Louis, “Look at them!” 

Harry shoved a photo of a little baby wearing a pink headband in his face. “Okay, that’s a really cute baby,” Louis admitted, scrolling through the account, past pictures of two people entwined in hugs and kisses and crowns to get to pictures of the baby girl smiling gummy smiles in a barrage of little puffy dresses. 

“I know, it’s unfair,” Harry laughed. Louis handed his phone back, and kissed him quickly on the cheek. 

“It’s nearly midnight,” Louis said after casting a look over to the old fashioned alarm clock on his bedside table next to the latest bouquet of flowers. He knew that if Harry stayed any longer, he wouldn’t leave at all. Even though he wanted to wake up next to Harry again more than anything, sometimes lines needed to be drawn, for the sake of Louis’ media appearance. Harry didn’t need to be told twice, and soon enough he was out of bed and near the door. “Will I see you tomorrow?” Louis asked. 

Harry smiled, “I’ll be at the elimination.” 

Louis shot him a look, but couldn’t quite push away the smile from his lips. “I mean, will you come see me tomorrow?” 

Harry smiled, almost as if he knew something that Louis didn’t and shook his head. “I don’t think I will. I have to go on a date with someone else in the morning, and it’ll be all prep for the elimination in the afternoon.” 

“Who’s your date?” Louis wondered, ignoring the tight feeling in his chest. 

“Just Miles,” Harry told him, and then it was very hard to ignore the sharp pangs in his sternum. 

“Oh,” Louis said, and it sounded an awful lot more pained than he’d meant it. “Have fun, then.” 

Harry’s face changed when he saw the look that must’ve come across Louis’ face when he’d told him was going out with Miles, because he must’ve known how hearing it would’ve affected him. “You don’t have to pretend that you’re happy about that.” 

He took a step back into the room, and cupped a hand around Louis’ face, stroking his jaw in lazy circles. “I know,” he said, leaning into the touch until Harry held his face in his hands. “It’s called being courteous,” he smirked, “I doubt you’ve every heard of it.” To punctuate his thought, he shoved Harry’s shoulder back. 

Harry barely flinched, and something of a fond smile formed on his lips as he rebounded from the push. Louis expected him to say something to defend himself, but instead he grabbed the sides of Louis’ face and ducked down to kiss him square on the mouth. Louis anticipated a quick kiss, albeit passionate, instead Harry pulled his face up and with it came the rest of Louis’ body until he stood between Harry’s legs. Louis snaked his fingertips up Harry’s chest, feeling his skin when his shirt had fallen apart. 

“While incredibly enticing,” Louis started, stealing quick and deep kisses in between words, “you still can’t stay the night.” 

“Ugh,” Harry exclaimed, a false exasperation evident in his breath, “you’ve foiled my masterful plan to trick you into allowing me into your incredibly comfortable bed!” He punctuated his plight by throwing his arms around Louis like a damsel in distress. 

“Please,” Louis scoffed, “the mattresses are all the same.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, “I’ll have to disagree with that sentiment,” Harry said, “You mattress is distinctly more comfortable than my own, which I think is completely unfair. If they don’t want me to sleep here, why give you the most comfortable mattress in the palace?” 

“I’m sure it’s just that mine isn’t as worn as yours,” Louis reasoned. “I’m sure Wolf’s is just as comfortable.” 

Harry’s brow furrowed, “I can’t say I would know.” 

Louis shoved Harry’s shoulder back, “You don’t have to lie.” Even though he kind of wanted to be lied to, if only to pretend for a while that he was the only one. But, they’d already spoken about this, and Louis knew that he needed to be okay with it. This was a competition, and if he wanted the grand prize, he was going to have to fight for it. 

“I’m not,” Harry promised, “I told you that I was being honest with you, and that’s what I’m doing.” He grabbed both of Louis’ shoulders and looked him square in the eye, “You are the only one that I have spent a night with.” 

Louis felt warm. Cozy and light and happy and _great_. It shouldn’t have made Louis so happy to hear that, and yet he was absolutely bursting. He leaned up on his tiptoes and kissed Harry soundly. “What’s one more night?” he asked. And Harry didn’t complain. 

*** 

Harry was gone by the time Louis awoke the next morning, but his side of the bed was still warm. He couldn’t help but wish he had woken up just a little earlier. There was no note, not that Louis had expected one. 

Perrie was waiting outside his room. She had a new outfit over her arm and a pair of shoes hooked over her fingers. “Places to go, people to see,” she sung under her breath as she came waltzing into the room. “I saw that Harry was still here this morning,” she said, not losing a chance to let her voice go up at the end. 

Louis let out half a laugh and shrugged, “You can’t say no to royalty.” He reached out absently to the pillow –Harry’s pillow- to catch the last of his warmth as it faded. If he focussed on the air, he could smell Harry’s aftershave drifting from where he’d lay. He could still imagine the night before, and the way Harry’s green eyes glowed with the light of the moon outside. 

The memories were corrupted by the thought of where Harry must be then, greeting Miles at his doorway with flowers and a brand new suit on –one Louis wouldn’t have the privilege of seeing- to take him on some fabulous date in some fabulous place. He wondered what Miles had done with him. He wondered if Miles had touched him. Even worse: would Miles touch him that morning. Louis may have been the only one who had shared a bed with Harry, but there was no reason that he would be the only one to be _with_ Harry in any capacity. 

“What are the clothes for?” Louis asked. 

Perrie ignored him for a moment, instead busying herself with laying the clothes out on his bed and undoing the shoelaces of his new loafers. “You’ve got an appointment this morning. I said you’d take for breakfast in your room so we’d have longer to get you ready.” 

Harry was away that morning, so who would want to have an appointment with him that morning before the elimination. “What sort of appointment?” Louis wondered aloud. 

‘Suit fitting,” Perrie said easily, as if people went for suit fittings all the time. “The Queen requested your presence, says she’d like to help you pick out something nice for the Autumn Ball next week.” 

Sometimes Louis couldn’t understand why Queen Anne cared for him. She had just embraced him right away, as if she had been missing him, and he had returned to her. He loved how easy they were together. He loved that he could feel as if they had known each other forever, and he could sink into her arms like she was his own mother. 

“Do you think she is having a suit fitting with everyone?” Louis wondered. He’d never pegged her for a men’s fashion connoisseur, but maybe she lived for a good double breasted suit. Who knew? 

“I’m going to say that I highly doubt it,” Perrie chuckled and held out the blue button up shirt she’d picked out for him. Silently, Louis slipped off the t-shirt he’d worn to bed and pulled it on. He picked the trousers off the bed without being prompted and threaded the belt through the loops like a routine. He’d become so used to dressing like a country-club member, that it was hard to remember a time when he wore blue jeans and shirts that cost 4 pounds. “She’s taken quite a liking to you.” 

“And I her,” Louis replied. Perrie moved to tie his shoes for him, but he shooed her off. Even if it was technically her job, Louis couldn’t fathom allowing another person to tie his shoes for him. Absently, he wondered if Harry let a hand tie his loafers in the morning, and then resolved that if he did, Louis would tell him that he just couldn’t bear to marry him until he rectified this terrible flaw. So, he tied his shoes himself. 

*** 

The suit Anne ended up picking for him was a glittering silver number that she insisted brought out his eyes and made him look “glowy” (although he wasn’t entirely sure that he liked the sound of looking “glowy” in the presence of his parents). 

How ever reserved he was about the outfit, it was nice to spend a day with the Queen. They’d had a room set up with a pedestal surrounded by mirrors for the fitting, just like the movies. Anne had tried on about a million fancy –puffy- party dresses, each with a sash of some kind to denote her royalty and a matching tiara. She settled on a bright yellow one, with a long sleeve bodice and little embroidered flowers all over. Afterwards she set to work finding Louis the perfect suit. She had said that she wanted him to stand out amongst the crowd, and he –while he had trouble accepting it, decided that that must be a good thing. In the end, they only went through about a dozen suits before Anne gasped at the sight of the silver blazer and decided right there that it was the one for Louis. It was definitely outstanding, and as Louis had said earlier that very day, _you can’t say no to royalty_. 

All the talk of the ball had reminded Louis of all the guests they would be hosting. All of the ladies from Queen Anne’s tea would be there, all of which Louis adored and quite anticipated seeing again, and all of Harry’s friends from the first group date in the club would be joining them as well. That made Louis a bit nervous, if he was honest. 

What Louis wasn’t nervous for, however, was the elimination that afternoon. The names of those eliminated would roll off of Harry’s tongue like he had heard them a million times –or read them, rather. _Thomas Chapman, Daniel Blackstein, Tony Russo_. It would be an easy one for Louis at least. He’d stand in the front row of the bleachers with the other boys under six foot, and then he’d make his way back to his room and miss Harry’s touch in his sleep. Then, another week would begin all over again. Perhaps it would be as successful as the last, but maybe it would be immeasurably worse, with the arrival of his father at the helm. 

His mother had told his that there was no avoiding his father’s visit. He’d already gotten the invitation, and he’d already begun preparing his bag for the journey. They were going to drive, his mother said, and she’d inquired as to whether the palace had a car park, which Louis just about squawked at, because there was no way in hell his family’s Volkswagen was going to shared even airspace with Harry’s vast collection of luxury cars. Harry had even lamented, disappointedly, that he had looked into getting Louis’ father uninvited, but at this point there was no way to do so without causing a scene. Instead he promised to have a whole brigade of guards out to watch him, and an express order to the camera men to turn their lenses away from him. 

All he hoped for was to find Harry in his bedchamber that night, prepared to hold him close as sleep captured them both. 

***

Just as Louis expected, Harry sent the three boys from his little bits of paper home. The three of them slipped from the bleachers deflated, but not at all blindsided by the news. Perhaps Harry had told them too. 

Martin McSilver tried to play up the drama as much as he could by talking at length about how Tony Russo’s date must not have gone as well as “we” all thought it had and Louis kind of wanted to hit him over the head, because it was so _mean_. Poor Tony Russo had already had his dreams of royalty dashed only to have the only nice memories he had of it stomped on by a man who clearly took all his fashion cues from Caesar Flickerman from The Hunger Games. 

Louis expected it to be a quick and dirty elimination, like they had been the last couple of weeks. Last time it had only lasted 25 minutes, so he’d anticipated a similar length again, but just as Louis was gearing up to hop off his step on the bleachers, Martin called out the _interviews_ and Louis had cringed. He hoped he might make it out without being burned by the bright purple sofa and Martin’s prying questions, but judging by the fact that his sisters had sent him a clip entirely devoted to Harry leaving his bedroom one morning, only for him to be nowhere to be found the next morning, he doubted he would. 

First he called up Miles, who spoke with words washing over his tongue like a stream about the date he had had that morning. Apparently he and the Prince had had _an incredibly romantic brunch_ on the balcony of the Prince’s bedchamber. The followed it up with a clip of the two of them clinking flutes of champagne and laughing with the early morning light casting them as shadows. Louis hoped the cameras where faced away from him when he smirked at the knowledge that only moments before that clip, Harry had been fast asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around Louis’ waist. Something wicked in him revelled in it. 

Next he called up Wolf, and Louis’ chest tightened. He knew what they were going to show, because he’d seen the picture already. It had popped up in his Google Alert for himself – something he’d been advised expressly against, but made anyways. It wasn’t dissimilar to what Louis had caught with his own eyes, Harry pressed against the wall with Wolf towering over him. Wolf had his hands all over Harry’s short hair and Harry held himself against his chest. It was an intimate picture, and it must’ve been sold to the tabloids by someone working in the palace. It made Louis want to throw up. It had only made its way into public circulation that day, but it was at least a week old, because Harry was wearing a bright yellow suit that Louis recognized. Wolf just blushed at it, and only smiled when Martin pried. 

The problem was that Wolf wasn’t outwardly threatening like Miles was. Miles could talk for hours about ever look, every touch, every word he got from Harry, but Wolf was quieter, more reserved, like a tiger hunting in the underbrush at night, just waiting to seal in the kill. Wolf was a silent predator, and that was easily worse than a loud one. 

Just as Louis suspected, he was called up after Wolf. They hadn’t briefed him on what to say about the nights he had spent with Harry, but luckily the program wasn’t to be aired live, so they’d just edit out any unfavourable thing he said. 

Martin showed pictures of Harry leaving his room a few nights before, and clips from their date –the less racy ones of them in the restaurant or the car and not grinding on each other in a club bathroom. He had a permanently raised brow, and the longer they spoke, Louis began to suspect that it might be surgically stuck that way. Louis did his best to laugh at Martin’s overstepping questions were jokes and blush and say things while saying nothing at all. He liked having his own pictures, to prove to Wolf and everyone else that he was just as much competition as anyone else. Somewhere deep down he wanted to scream that out, but instead he just smiled and said nothing at all. He wasn’t sure how well he’d done in the end when he returned back to his place in time for King Bradley to be called up.

***

Harry wasn’t in his bedroom after the elimination. Probably because it had been a short enough one that they had all still had time for a formal supper in the dining room, and thus were sent back to their chambers to change out of whatever ridiculously memorable outfit they had donned on TV into something more appropriate for life in the palace.

He was at dinner, though. And so was Wolf and Miles and anyone who he could have snuck away with for any reason. Harry had yet to find his companion for the night, it seemed, because he invited them all back for drinks in the parlour afterwards, and the seventeen remaining boys crammed into the sofas, made to find at most ten. They drank scotch and sodas while they talked about football and the news. Word of Zayn’s tattoo machine had gotten around the group and now he was something of a celebrity among them, with boys sidling up beside him to run their latest ideas by him. Even Ed, who only a couple of weeks before had refused Zayn’s services was running a new design by him. 

People seemed intrigued by Liam’s new tattoo, which he’d kept wrapped up in gauze and under long sleeves since he’d gotten it. Louis had figured it would be something like Zayn’s name, and sure enough Liam absolutely refused to show it off. In lieu of Liam, they turned their attention to Louis’ own wrist. Zayn had said to take the bandage off later the day he’d gotten it, so it had been out in the air for a couple of days but he’d yet to really show it off to anyone. 

It was a rope, winding around his wrist and coming together in the figure-eight knot in the back. It’s pretty, and delicate, and Louis had become very fond of it in the couple of days that he’d had it. “I reckon me mum’s going to kill me when she sees it,” Louis joked when a couple of the boys leaned over to get a look at it. More likely that Lottie was going to kill him, because she’d been talking about how much she wanted a tattoo for years. 

“It’s sick, mate.” The sound came from the other side of the parlor, and Louis looked up from his own arm to see Harry leaning over the coffee table to get a good look at it. Louis blushed. 

Eventually the conversation shifted away from Louis and into politics, which seemed like a minefield at every corner. Soon enough everyone was barely keeping their heads and actively stopping themselves from screaming at the person across the coffee table. Louis kept himself out of it, so fear of having a crystal tumbler thrown at his head. Everyone tip-toed around the idea of the monarchy. 

One by one, boys excused themselves to go off to bed. It was getting late, and everyone had had one too many drinks. Still, Harry chatted happily about anything and everything, even asking for the projector to be lowered so they could all watch that evening’s football game. 

Soon is was only Miles, Wolf and a couple of other massive football fans. It was clear from the remaining boys that they were all vying for Harry that night. An hour or so before, Louis might’ve said that Harry was his for the night without question, but he’d been in a captivating conversation with Miles for at least ten minutes –perhaps a continuation of their date- and Louis felt like he was losing the battle. Wolf had picked a strategic place, right beside Harry so that he could touch his side and press his thigh against Harry’s. Louis hadn’t pick well. Instead he’d sat across from Harry, and away from the television, so that if he wanted to appear to be watching the game he wasn’t able to look at Harry. It didn’t matter though, for all Harry cared, he could have left hours ago. He only had eyes for Miles. 

Harry laughed with Miles when he didn’t say anything funny, and he looked him straight in the eye, even when he took a drink of his third scotch. Eventually, he muted the TV, just to hear him better while he talked on and on about things that Louis couldn’t find the motivation to decipher. So he just sat there, waiting patiently for Harry to finally give him the time of day. 

He never would. Louis stood up, right in front of the TV, and Harry didn’t even notice. “I’m going off to bed,” he announced, to no one in particular, but maybe just because he wanted to be noticed. 

Harry turned at the sound, and the fond smile he’d had for Miles faded into a look of disappointment. “Oh,” he nearly whispered, like he hadn’t meant to verbalize it. Louis looked at him for a while, perhaps too long. Harry didn’t say anything more. He couldn’t help but shake his head as walked away. 

It hurt, to see Harry without him. It hurt to know that he would be sleeping alone tonight, and that soon the smell of Harry’s cologne would fade from his sheets and he would be alone again with the wilting flower arrangements and Harry’s notes on his bedside table. It hurt to know that one day he may be back in Doncaster without even the slightest hint of Harry in his bedroom. It hurt to know that Louis didn’t exist in Harry’s bedroom. He had no flowers, no notes, no cologne on his pillow. 

He sat in his bedroom for a while, just on the bed, feeling awfully sorry for himself. Zayn wouldn’t reply to his text, and he didn’t care to know what he was inevitably doing with Liam. It had started raining, and fat drops hit the windows in slow intervals, enough to make Louis feel sick, like a wind turbine turning slowly or a ticking that just wouldn’t stop. He tried to ignore the sound of Harry’s laughter down the hall. 

He assumed he was going with Miles, but it could be Wolf. It might even be one of the other boys still in the parlor when it left. It could be anyone. Harry had sixteen other men in the palace –well, fourteen without Zayn or Liam- who would love to share their beds with him, and just because he had wanted Louis yesterday, didn’t mean he would be wanted tomorrow, or the next day, or ever again. What he had with Harry was fleeting, and he could stay in the parlor all night and fight for it, but in the end it was who he wanted, and that wouldn’t always be Louis. 

So he tried to go to sleep, and tried to ignore the violent pelting of plump rain drops against his window. He ignored the pings on his phone, probably messages from Zayn, apologizing for being too busy for him. He ignored talk in the hallways, from boys planning some crazy adventure or another impromptu ballroom party. Soon, sleep took him and he let himself be taken into its embrace. 

It wasn’t until the next morning, when he awoke to a mattress weighed down by the weight of another body that he realized anything was astray.


	9. Week 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one's fun. Full of details about the boys we don't see a lot of and their strange families. Let me know if you have a favourite beyond Louis. (I like Sebastian Fairchild an awful lot, in case you haven't noticed.) 
> 
> For someone with a distinct lack of daddy issues, my Louis's always do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My love to alittlewicked (undersummerstars) for being the most lovely (seriously I didn't know a person could be that nice).

Zayn lay heavy on the other side of the bed. He left out heavy, laboured breaths and from time to time his vocal tract would push out a grunt as he inhaled. He didn’t sleep where Harry had. He slept much further over, just about off the bed so that one of his hands brushed to floor with every breath. He hadn’t used Harry’s pillow, instead he slept far down the bed, so that his toes floated over the edge, his head fell on the bedspread without any support at all. Zayn didn’t sleep like Harry at all. Where Harry held him close, Zayn lay far away, where harry let out long breaths, Zayn’s were short and stunted. Where Harry would be in his boxers, Zayn was in joggers. 

He must’ve snuck in long after Louis had gone to sleep, for it was five am when Louis awoke to his presence. He stayed fast asleep, unaware of Louis beside him, and all of his wonderings about him. Something must have happened, Louis figured. By the way Zayn’s hair was flopping over his face and sticking to his cheekbones, he had been crying. By the way he was sleeping so soundly, he must’ve been crying for a while. 

The rain hadn’t stopped, if anything, it had gotten heavier. The balcony doors were soaked, completely submerged in a thick layer of rain water as it trailed down to flood the balcony itself before hitting the shrubbery below it. Thick drops fell from Harry’s balcony above, and Louis wondered if he was there to see it. It hardly sounded like rain anymore. The torrential downpour had thrown so much water at the palace that now it might have been the lost city of Atlantis, drowned. Louis had never hated rain, he’d never liked it either. 

Rain meant a day indoors, and it meant that Zayn couldn’t go frolicking in the gardens until whatever was plaguing him subsided. It meant they would all have to sit in the women’s room for hours on end and listen to the piano for longer. It meant that the palatial palace would be freezing, and that the fireplaces would be lit as soon as the sun rose. It meant a dreary day, after what had ended up being a rather dreary night. 

Louis looked again at the clock, and still it only said five am. He closed his eyes, hoping that maybe he could find sleep again before Zayn woke up, and that maybe he would be better to talk to because of it. But even wit his eyelids warm and heavy, and the pleasurable feeling of being tired all through his body, he couldn’t fall asleep again. He could only hear the wash of water over the windows and the waterfall from the balcony above. He could hear Zayn’s stunted breath, and could hear footsteps in the hall. He tried not to recognize the familiar steps of the prince as he walked down the hall. 

He could hear his own breathing, and feel his eyes moving under his lids, like a worm under his skin. He could feel his feet twitching incessantly instead his socks, he could feel his pulse in his wrist. He could smell Zayn, who smelt like something floral and manly at the same time, and the smell of rotting flowers everywhere. 

The room was casting in blue, when he opened his eyes again. The dark of night and the bright of the moon refracted through the puddle over his windows had pulled out only a weak shade of blue, like that of a stream after a storm, or dirty dishwater. 

Zayn stirred a while later. He woke up all of a sudden, like he’d had a dream where he was falling. His eyes shot open and for a moment he looked confused, like he hadn’t remembered where he was meant to be. Whatever the reason, when he laid eyes on Louis he relaxed. 

“When did you come in?” Louis asked, once he look orientated enough to talk. 

Zayn shrugged, “not long after midnight. I don’t think you’d been back long, so I hadn’t expected you to be asleep yet.” 

“I didn’t see much point in staying up,” Louis replied, “it wasn’t like there was anything going on.” 

“No,’ Zayn said, “there’s a little get together tonight. A sort of Ball before the Ball.” 

‘Sounds nice,” Louis replied, and he and Zayn both could tell that his had no intention of going. “They’re going to teach us to dance with week. Proper-like.” 

“That sounds like fun,” Zayn said, knowing that this was all small talk. “I wonder if I’ll be any good at it.” 

They sat in silence after that. Zayn stared up at the ceiling, and Louis ta Zayn, waiting for him to volunteer his words on his own. He didn’t seem eager to explain. He didn’t really seem eager about anything at all. “Would you like me to guess?” Louis asked. 

Zayn made a face, ‘Not really.” He still didn’t say anything more for a while after that. “it’s Liam.” 

Louis smiled, “I assumed.” 

“He wants us to get sent home,” Zayn told him. “He thinks that we’re wasting time staying here any longer. We’ve got everything at the summer palace set up, he’s even got us a little cottage that’s absolutely to die for. Two bedrooms, one and a half bathroom. I feel like a proper adult when I say that,” he paused to snort out a chuckle, “He thinks we should get our lives started, and I just –is it bad that I want to stay in this life for a little while longer?” Zayn didn’t wait for a response. “So he’s conjured up this massive plan to do it. He thinks we should get caught at the Ball, and make sure pictures get put out into the tabloids. But, I can’t help but think that it might end up worse than just getting kicked out. Like what if we get arrested?” 

“You could just ask,” Louis proposed. 

“What do you mean?” Zayn asked. 

“Well Harry knows about you and Liam,” Louis said, “You could just ask him to send you home at the end of this week, and see what he’ll do.” 

“Lou,” Zayn started, “you might be at a point in your relationship where you can make requests of the Prince of England, but the rest of us don’t have that luxury.” 

“You know he’s actually quite accommodating,” Louis reasoned, “I could ask for you if you’d like.” 

‘The thing is that I don’t want to go home,” Zayn sighed, “I like it here! I like having people waiting on me hand and foot, and I like asking for tea and having it made just the way I like without me saying a word more!” he exclaimed, “Don’t get me wrong, I can’t wait for whatever comes afterwards. I can’t wait to go home everyday and find Liam in our little cottage and I can’t wait to put a little Liam shaped kid to bed and I can’t wait to wait on Harry for the rest of my life. But why end this so early? I’ve got decades to do that, and I’ve only go a few more days to live this.”

“Maybe he thinks that you won’t want it anymore,” Louis offered, “Like maybe he thinks that if you spend too much time upstairs, you’ll never want to go back down” As he spoke, he realized that he didn’t ever want to go back downstairs. He wanted life in the light. He wanted life at Balls and dinners served to him on silver plates and thousands of cakes for dessert. The idea of going back to working as a waiter and sharing a bedroom with his little sisters pained him. 

“I know I won’t ever live like that. I know I’ve got no chance here, and I don’t want a chance, I just want to stick around a little longer,” Zayn promised. 

“You should tell him that,” Louis said and Zayn nodded. “He really loves you.” 

Zayn blushed, and couldn’t contain a smile, “And I him.” He spoke in a way that made Louis’ heart swell. He could have been silent, and Louis would have known just from his face that he meant every word that he had said. 

Zayn’s smile didn’t go away after that. He closed his eyes again and he still grinned at the thought. He slept with a little smile, just the tips of his mouth turned up in the slightest way. Louis wished that every time he closed his eyes, he smiled at the thought of Harry. Instead, his chest hurt and he frowned. Maybe one day. Maybe one day very soon. He wondered what Harry did each time he thought of Louis. Did he smile? Did he long? Did he frown the way that Louis did and worry that perhaps he would be taken by another? 

Louis doubted it.

***

The rain had locked them all together, and fourteen grown men were not meant to be in one room all day. Now that fewer men remained, there was more space to go around, but the women’s room was still just as stuffy and claustrophobic as it had been when there were thirty of them.

Miles didn’t show up until long after breakfast, and Louis sat as far away from the main collection of couches as possible so as to avoid his bright smile and pink cheeks. He spoke loud enough, though, for Louis to hear from the other side of the room. He spoke of how Harry slept on his stomach, and how he snored in his sleep. Louis tried to ignore how small his throat had become. Apparently, they’d eaten breakfast in Miles’ room, enjoying each other’s company for a little longer, like Harry just couldn’t bear to leave him. Louis couldn’t help but remember how Harry had slipped out without a goodbye the morning before. 

Some time in the mid-afternoon, the kitchen sent up pizzas in generic boxes and cokes in glasses. They all sat on the floor, for fear of getting sauce or soda on the furniture. By then, Miles had run out of things to brag about, and let the conversation shift to the Ball, seemingly the only thing the boys could think of. Everyone’s suit had been delivered that morning, including Louis’ custom fitted, approved by the Queen, silver ensemble. They’d also received the name of the noble they’d been assigned to dance with at the beginning of the Ball, unless, of course, they’d already had their debut, in which case they would be allowed to sit out the introduction dance. Unsurprisingly, nearly a third of the boys had debuted years before. 

The rest of them -the lowly spirits of the Selection- would be forced to attend dancing classes from the next day until Thursday when the Ball would begin. Louis had a terrible feeling that he’d be absolutely God awful at it. Even worse, he’d embarrass himself in front of his entire family and Harry, but more terribly, he’d embarrass himself in front of Miles, Wolf, Sebastian Fairchild, and –strangely enough- Liam (who had apparently debuted when he was sixteen despite coming from a firmly middle class family). 

Soon, conversation had fizzled out and the sound of rain drops populated the air in relative singularity. One by one, boys got up off the floor and returned to their places on the sofas, opening up the books they’d left on the coffee tables or pulling their phones out of their pockets. Someone suggested a game of Blackjack by the fireplace, but no one had anything to bet with so the idea fell away without any movement. Louis tried to pretend to be busy, but with no work to get done and no where to go, he resigned himself to scrolling through a familiar Instagram feed and wallowing in his sorrows. 

Then, the oversized door creaked open and a servant stood there, hands behind her back, until everyone in the room turned to look at her. “Louis Tomlinson,” she announced, “you’re needed in the library.” 

It seemed a strange place to be needed. Perhaps if he were needed in his bedroom, or even in the Queen’s apartments, he wouldn’t have hesitated, but something about the library seemed so out of the ordinary that he only sat there, trying to figure out who would need him in the library. 

“Louis Tomlinson?” she asked again, “is he here?” 

All eyes shot over to Louis, and he still sat there, completely bewildered. “He’s over there,” someone said, pointing a finger at where Louis sat in the corner. _Curse whoever it was_!

Louis got up tentatively. Perhaps Perrie needed to tell him some gossip, or maybe they had come to tell him that he was going to have to leave and hadn’t wanted to do it publically. Louis didn’t know, but he got up and left all the same. 

He could hear the servant following him, but he knew the way to the library well enough that he didn’t need her help. Instead he hung back a moment, eventually falling in step with her to ask, “do you know why I’m needed?” 

She smiled politely, and Louis figured she must’ve been fairly new, “I was told by The Prince that you were needed.” 

So it was Harry. Louis slowed and the girl slowed with him. He wasn’t mad at Harry. Or, he wasn’t purposely mad at him. He was a little frustrated, maybe, but he reminded himself that Harry was allowed to do what he liked and if what he liked was Miles, that was perfectly alright. But, he couldn’t understand why Harry wanted to see him. 

Perhaps it was another of Harry’s attempts at being honest. Maybe he was going to relay all that he and Miles had done the night before right to his face and expect him to smile and thank him for it. Harry would be sorely mistaken if he thought that Louis would take that. 

The library was a large oval, two floors high with a balcony all around the top. It was panelled in dark wood and every metal was gold from the railings to the sliding ladder. The ceiling had been painted with a scene of angels and clouds and a perfect pink sunset. It was a relic of a past monarchy, one that ruled the world and one that drowned in riches even more so than the one now. It was one of Louis’ favourite places in the palace, because it was quiet and serene, sometimes dusty but always calming. 

Harry stood in the middle of it, by a display of original manuscripts set up for tours. He’d put on an all black suit, and against the gold trimmings of the table he looked regal, like a Greek God. He smiled at Louis, and he nodded his head shortly at the young woman, who scurried off and closed the door with a gentle _thump_ behind her. 

Louis walked towards him slowly, unsure of what he would do when he got in front of him, but he hadn’t any time to decided because Harry reached out a long arm to wrap his fingers around the back of Louis’ head and tug him to his lips before he could. He was taken aback, and didn’t even reciprocate for all the time he was kissed. 

“I missed you last night,” Harry whispered against his lips. 

“You had company,” Louis reasoned. 

“You left the parlor so quickly,” Harry continued, “I was worried you were angry with me.” 

Louis shook his head, “I’m not angry. I only figured you would be fine without me, with your thoroughly captivating conversation.” 

Harry sighed, and let his hand drop from Louis’ scalp to his jaw, “you _are_ mad at me.” 

“I’m not!” Louis insisted, “frustrated, maybe. But you’ve got every right to do as you please.” 

Harry dipped down to kiss his cheek, “I didn’t mean to frustrate you,” he spoke sincerely, but something about it felt awfully patronizing. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked. 

Louis shrugged, “Nothing to make better.” 

“How can I make you less upset with me, I mean,” he replied, sliding his hands down Louis’ jaw, over his neck, and down to his shoulders to hold him in front of him. 

Louis shook his head, “It isn’t your fault. I’m just upset, not at you.” 

Harry didn’t believe him, that much was clear. He cocked his head to the side like he always did and raised an eyebrow until Louis broke eye contact. “So if it isn’t anything to do with me, why won’t you kiss me back?” 

Louis didn’t know why. Maybe because all he could think of was that Miles had touched those same lips only a few hours before, or maybe because he could barely stand being touched by hands that had held Miles in his sleep and hardly look him in the eyes. He couldn’t help that he was bothered by it, anyone would be bothered by it. 

If he and Harry were normal, and if they had met normally, it would probably constitute cheating. But because they lived in some Orwellian universe where people held game shows to pick their spouses and the whole world tuned in, Louis was meant to be okay with it. 

“Perhaps I’m not in the mood,” Louis guessed as if he didn’t know. He wanted to want Harry’s attention. He wanted to kiss him back, and he wanted to be happy about it. But his brain couldn’t get past it. Tentatively, he leaned up on his tip toes, and pressed his lips against Harry’s. The same rush of contentedness flooded his bones and pooled in his stomach, but Harry’s lips were cold, and he wasn’t warm or wrapped around Louis. Even if they both wanted him to be. 

“If you’d stayed,” Harry started after Louis rocked back onto his heels, “I would have stayed with you.” 

“You knew where I was,” Louis reminded him, “if you’d wanted to, you could’ve come.” 

Harry sighed, “I tried, you know. I left Miles once he was asleep, but by the time I got to your room Zayn was already there, and I figured it might be strange to climb in with the two of you.” 

“You went back to him afterwards,” Louis said, because something about that was plaguing him an awful lot. As much as his heart sung at the idea of Harry finding him in the middle of the night, like a reflex, a need to hold him in his arms, he couldn’t help but think about how he could still sleep in Miles’ bedroom. Even if he needed Louis, he could do without him enough to do that. 

“He woke up,” Harry explained, “he texted me, and I felt weird about telling him I wasn’t coming back. It felt wrong.” 

Harry was chivalrous, if nothing else, Louis couldn’t blame him for that. “He has your number?” Louis asked instead. 

“Yeah,” Harry replied, “I’ll give it to you too if you’d like.” He pulled out his phone from his back pocket and gave it to Louis to put in his phone number. It struck Louis as strange that he had known Harry for six weeks and was only just getting his phone number. 

After a moment, he let out an exasperated breath, “it’s always something isn’t it. It’s never just fine with us, is it?” It was even sadder to think that it may never be, that they might never get to a place where things were the way they both wanted them to be. Maybe one day they’d be lucky enough to have a happy life where no one stood in the way of them. But more likely, Louis would go home at the end of the thirteen weeks and never see him again. A disappointing thought it was, indeed. 

“It’s worth it,” Harry replied. “Even if it all goes to shit and the sky falls or the monarchy is ousted and I have to become a street sweeper, I want you to know that you’re worth it, to me.” Harry stared straight into his eyes as he spoke with an unapologetic sincerity to him. “If the selection ended tomorrow, it’d be you.” 

Louis sighed, “but it doesn’t end tomorrow, does it? It ends in seven weeks, and who knows how you’ll feel then. And even if you do feel the same, what will people say? We can keep pretending that it’s all about what you want, but it isn’t, and people aren’t going to want you to marry someone like me.” _Not after they see where I come from_ the voice in Louis’ head echoed. 

Harry kept staring. He hadn’t broken eye contact with Louis since their kiss. “Let me want you,” he said, strong and earnest. He leaned down to peck Louis’ lips. “Just let me want you.” 

Louis paused. It was funny: what Harry was asking for. He hadn’t even realized that he was pushing Harry away. Harry was scary. He was this terrifying, vulnerable thing that would probably end in disaster the second Louis opened up to him. He hadn’t realized how scared he was of Harry. Or maybe just what Harry represented. 

“I’m scared,” Louis whispered, and in a moment Harry had his arms around his back. He hugged with every inch of his body, and gave off every last bit of warmth and comfort he had. He hugged Louis just like he had when they had been in his bedroom, when Louis had cried and cried about his father. It struck Louis that that was the last time he had truly been open with him. 

Harry let out careful breathes where his nose was pressed into Louis’ neck. “Me too,” he whispered, “believe it or not,” he continued, and Louis could feel his lips turn up against his skin, “I don’t have all that much experience with this kind of stuff.” 

Harry often seemed like he was in a different league, or perhaps a whole different species all together, but it was moments like this that Louis remembered that Harry was just as new and young as him. The first was the night they had met, when Harry had told him all about his tattoos, bearing his skin to Louis –who had been essentially a stranger. The last was the night he had held Louis, and he had tried to pretend that there weren’t tears falling off his cheeks. 

Louis didn’t say anything, he wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t find anything he felt was more worth saying than silence. Eventually, Harry pulled off of his shoulder and unfurled his arms, letting out all of the warmth they had bottle up between them. “Let’s go somewhere,” Harry said. 

“Where?” Louis asked, “it’s pouring.” 

Harry just shrugged, “I have no clue. We’ll figure it out. This place is drowning me with all its silence.” 

Louis understood the feeling. Hearing the ticking of clocks and the creaking of the floorboards leant itself to being incredibly eerie in such a large building. He had never understood how people said silence was louder than noise until his mind lurched in the quiet between clock ticks. Like his mind was on fire with impatience. He was more than happy to let Harry take him away for a little while. It wouldn’t matter where they went, as long as it was _loud_. Louis nodded, letting a little smile cross him mouth. Harry mirrored him. “We’ll figure it out,” he echoed, and let their destination fall into Harry’s hands, open and vulnerable. 

Harry grabbed his hand, and off they went, walking through the palace together. Past a tour group, past a maid and a footman having a whispered conversation. Not caring for the stares, only having eyes for the other as they went.

***

They ended up in a restaurant. One that wasn’t quite a pub, but not quite the sort of place to have cloth napkins. They’d caught a camera team on their way out, and a few security guards for good measure.

The room went silent when they walked in. They’d put no effort into disguising themselves, and Louis immediately regretted it when there was not a peep from anyone for a solid minute. He’d wanted noise. The brigade of oversized men in too-small suits to show off their well developed arms and wide chests kept people in their seats, but their eyes were just as intrusive as anyone running up could have been. 

A nervous hostess with wide eyes and a terrified look grabbed their menus, enough for the entire team, and without a word nodded towards a table near the back. She led them there, all the while glancing back as if she expected them to disappear into thin air on the way there. 

All of a sudden, they all stopped, and Louis looked down to see a little hand tugging at Harry’s trousers. “Excuse me, sir,” the little boy said, his mother had lunged halfway across the table and Harry security guards looked about ready to tackle that boy who couldn’t be more than a four years old, “are you the Prince of England?” 

Louis caught his laugh in his hand before it made a sound, but he had to take several hiccup-y breaths to stop it completely. Harry just smiled, and leaned down to the boy’s eye line, “Yes, I am,” he replied. He spoke to the little boy warmly, voice high but not patronizing. He couldn’t help but think about Harry speaking to his own children like that. 

The boy smiled, looking over at his mum as if to prove that he was right. Then he tugged on Harry’s pants again, and Harry grinned wider, canines on display for the whole room to see. “Is that also the Prince of England?” the boy asked, pointing a finger out at Louis the way only little kids do. 

Harry laughed and looked over at Louis as if to assess. He leaned in to the boy, like he was going to whisper and then said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “not yet.” 

Louis blushed, and someone from across the room clapped. Soon the whole room was clapping and the cameras were lapping it up like a moth to a flame. The sheer lack of drama throughout the selection thus far had left them desperate for anything, and Louis knew that this moment would be all over the nightly report that night. Harry just smiled, and the little boy clapped along, looking confused but contented. Even the hostess clapped, with her menus still in hand leading to it being more of a flap than a clap but all the same. The security agents barely flinched, and Louis began to fear that they may be robots. 

When the room finally quieted down, the hostess took their orders in shock, nodding along with each of the agents and looking more than surprised when the Prince of England wanted chips with his burger. The stares still hadn’t faded, and Louis was hyper aware of the fact that every word he said was being listened to even though the sound of the room had picked back up. Even with the added pressure of the public, it was a hundred times less stressful than sitting in a room with sixteen boys he was meant to be competing with. 

Harry smiled until his eyes were more closed than open, and giggled at jokes made by his robot guards like they had actually been funny and not slightly terrifying. He must’ve been used to them. The cameras seemed more invested in the rest of the room rather than them, but they still didn’t say anything of any importance just in case it was caught on tape. 

When they’d finished their hamburgers and were picking at leftover fries just for the sake of it, Harry cast a look around the room, catching the eyes of every person before falling back onto Louis. “Let’s see a film,” he said. 

“In a proper cinema?” Louis wondered, thinking back to the home-cinema on the first floor of the palace. _Had Harry even been to a real cinema before?_

“Yeah,” Harry smiled, “let’s take our new friends.” 

Louis could barely get over how quintessentially _Harry_ the idea was. How many people had ever decided on a whim to take an entire restaurant’s worth of people to film in the middle of the day? Louis just chuckled, but nodded anyways –it seemed fun. Outside the rain was still drowning the concrete, but Louis had spotted a cinema a block down, so it wouldn’t be all that painful to go. 

Harry stood up, and without even a word the entire room had shut up and their attention was solely on him, “Would anyone like to come to a film with Louis and me?” he asked and the room seemed to rise to its collective feet, smiling and whispering. 

The little boy from before came running over and grabbed onto Harry’s hand. “I would! I would!” he exclaimed and Harry nodded with him. The boy offered his other hand to Louis. 

Together, they walked from the room, followed by a parade of people and cameras circling like a pack of vultures. They took off into the rain as one big, joyous group of people, sprinting their way down the street. Passersby gasped as they saw Harry and some even joined behind, having no clue where they were going, just happy to be a part of it. 

They took a vote of what film to watch once they reached the cinema, soaked through but laughing through it. The staff had to pen up a theatre just for them and played whichever film they wanted. It seemed that being royalty had its perks.

***

Dancing lessons started on Sunday. They opened up one of the smaller ballrooms and set up chairs and a stereo system for the duration. Those who had already debuted were still required to show up, but they sat off in the corner and judged the rest of them all the while.

Louis wasn’t actually that terrible. The noble boy he’d been paired with was tall and blond with a massive nose and Harry Potter glasses that made him look like he was straight out of War and Peace. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, and yet he held a terrifying presence of superiority around him. His name was Andre, and he spoke not more than a word in the entire time they were dancing together. First the Waltz, then the Viennese Waltz which was infinitely more complicated and something Andre had clearly grown up doing because he spun Louis across the room with masterful grace only for Louis to trip over his shoes. Then the Foxtrot, which Louis was actually pretty good at, and when Zayn just about went soaring across the room when he stumbled over his partner’s ankle, Louis patted himself on the back. Even Andre gave him a nod: the highest honour Andre could bestow upon him. 

The Dance Master was a total hard-ass. All he wanted to do was yell at people about their slouching, or that their shoulders were pulled up to their chins or that their steps were too small. Apparently Louis had to point his toes better. Implicit in his teaching was a firm belief that men shouldn’t be dancing with men. It was clear that he didn’t approve of the exercise at all. 

From the sidelines, Miles cast a careful eye over each of the dancers. Louis knew he was deciding whether he would be the best at the Ball (but in his eyes, of course he would). He smiled when people stumbled, and whispered little comments to the boys around him whenever someone fell, giggling all the time. Louis didn’t really mind, because it wasn’t all that serious, but the idea of it was sickening. Lucky for him, no one seemed to notice but Louis. 

Liam looked miserable, and it made Louis want to laugh. He kept an angry face on the entire time, tracking Zayn’s partner with eagle like precision. He was a boy around their age, with brown hair that fell down to his shoulders in gentle waves and a face full of freckles. Zayn barely made eye contact, but even the idea of it seemed to set Liam off. 

In the corner, like a lion in its den, sat Wolf Harvey between King Walker and Xavier Johnson. They reminded Louis of the group of mean jocks in every teen movie since the beginning of time. He half expected them to push him while he walked down the hallway. The problem was that they’d never actually been mean in all the time Louis had been there. They were personable and kind and gracious: the sort of men who would make good royalty. Even worse, Louis was pretty sure they were just like that by virtue, and not that they were putting on a show. Wolf had a nice smile, and he flashed it all the time, laughing at jokes and telling a few of his own. At the end of every dance he clapped with real pride and congratulated boys when they took a seat in the middle for a break. 

Louis wished he could hate Wolf. But there wasn’t anything to hate beyond him being competition, and that wasn’t grounds to hate someone. Not really.

***

Three more days of dancing lessons, interspersed with sitting out in the gardens to take advantage of uncharacteristically lovely days found Louis with worn feet and tired eyes by Wednesday. His family had taken off in the car that afternoon from the nearly three-hour trip into London.

Nearly everyone’s family was coming to the Ball with the exception of Knight Bradley, who –much to Louis’ surprise- was actually American. Louis felt awfully terrible for not knowing that after living with him from a month and a half, but it was a testament to how much he tuned out of the ongoing conversations in the palace when he heard a distinctly American accent for the first time. 

By dinner time, most of the boys’ family members had arrived and joined them in a large ballroom, outfitted with many little table to accommodate the sudden influx of people to feed. Zayn’s mum, dad and sisters had arrived at about four that afternoon and Louis had spent much of it with them as Zayn led them around the castle, smiling all the time at his sisters’ gasps and his dad’s questions about the architecture –as if Zayn would know the answers. 

Louis’ family had gotten caught in traffic on the way through Nottingham and had called to say they would miss supper, so he’d sat with Zayn’s family and Kamil Seif’s disapproving mother and his eerily silent father. 

In the middle of the room was Sebastian Fairchild and Ed Sheeran’s family. A funny mix they were. Sebastian had a family of purebred blonds with pearly smiles and bright brown eyes while Ed’s parents were a lot more rough-and-tumble with fiery messes of red hair and big open mouthed Suffolk accents. They seemed to get along fantastically, though. By the time the main courses were served, Sebastian’s mother was leaned halfway across the table with her hair nearly falling into the gravy to speak animatedly with Ed’s mum. 

Miles Seaman had a family much like himself. They were quite literally larger than life, with not a single one of them –including his little sister- anywhere close to Louis’ height and every one of them talkers and laughers and gesticulators. His father looked like he might be the mob boss from The Godfather, except he was blond and swore like a sailor. They easily over powered John Manson’s squirrely mother. 

It was great fun to see where all of the selected boys had come from, and how often they were exactly as expected. Louis couldn’t help but worry than when his circus caravan of a family showed up everyone would be shocked. Where the Fairchilds were poised, his family was ill-mannered, and where the Seamans were charismatic, his family was just messy. 

Dinner came and went, but still no sign of the Tomlinson clan. His mother had said that they were only a few minutes away from the plates were cleared, so Louis went to greet them at the visitor’s entrance. 

“Oi! Where’s me fancy room?” A voice came from down the hall, loud and brash. A voice Louis recognized from a few too many nights of being woken up after last call. A voice he hadn’t heard for weeks. One he hadn’t missed all that much. 

“Sir,” a calmer voice said, “you’ll have to wait for your son.” 

His father’s raucous laugh filled the remaining space between them. “Good for nothin’ twat’s finally done something worth me time and he’s still makin’ me wait!” he yelled for the whole palace to hear. Louis prayed that no one was in the hall to hear it. 

The long blond hair of his oldest sister came into view first. She wore a brand new sweater, and Louis knew that his mother must’ve taken them all shopping just for the occasion. With what money, he didn’t know. His littlest sisters had on little puffy dresses, and their hair was done up in plaits that his mother must’ve spent hours doing that morning, now a little messy from hours in their car seats. Even his Mum had traded her pants for a skirt he’d never seen before. They’d tried. They’d tried _so_ hard. 

His father’s ratty t-shirt and cargo pants said enough about him. 

“I’m here,” Louis said as he rounded the corner, “it’s all right.” 

The whole room turned to him, and his mother visibly exhaled before taking him into her arms and holding him there the way he’d been wanting her to for weeks. It was irreplaceable: the feeling of his mother. The way his body felt so at home in her embrace was impossible to replicate. Goodness, he’d missed her so. 

When she pulled back to look at him, her eyes were glassy and full of water. “You look so good!” she exclaimed, in the way that she did when she was so full of pride for him. Louis grinned, his own eyes filling with tears, and nodded. 

His sisters took their turns hugging his legs and he kissed each of the babies’ heads in their carriers as they lay fast asleep. He let his Dad stand in his spot, and didn’t make a single move towards him. The smile slowly faded from his face and soon they were just frowning at each other with their family in between. “Glad you could make it,” he said. His father just nodded. 

A silence fell over them, and the assistant with a clipboard in hand fumbled around with words until he finally stammered out something semi-collected. “You –you- indicated on your RSVP that you would only need two bedrooms, but we’ve got a few extra rooms left and the Prince thought that perhaps your daughters might like rooms of their own.” 

Lottie lit up like a Christmas light and Louis’ eyes were teary again. The twins looked confused at best, and after a moment to think about it Daisy exclaimed, “you can have a room to yourself? Like, people do that?” 

Perhaps it was a testament to the neighbourhood they had grown up in, where not a single person she knew had a bedroom to themselves, and maybe it was a bit sad that she had never seen a TV program or movie where kids had their own bedrooms, but Louis’ heart swelled at the idea that he could give her that experience, if only for a couple of days. 

“Yeah Daisy, people do that,” he replied, “I even have my own room here, I’ll show it to you later if you like.” Daisy giggled, and nodded with barely contained excitement. 

The assistant led them down the hall, and up the grand staircase. His younger sisters struggled on the large stairs but they were so fascinated by it that they couldn’t be bothered by tripping. They walked through the East Wing, and up to the third floor, where Louis had never been. It looked much like every other hall in the palace, lots of doors and art in the wall space between them. Family members milled about from room to room as they walked past them all the way down to the end. The man opened up a room for each of his sisters, all of which ran straight to jump onto their queen-sized beds and grin like maniacs. 

By the last room the only ones left were his parents and the babies, still fast asleep in their carriers. “We don’t have cribs in the palace, but we’ve sent for them so they should arrive within an hour.” The assistant said, and his mother looked absolutely shocked at the idea that they’d bought cribs just for her children. 

His father didn’t look so impressed. “If you think I’m sharin’ with those little urchins you’re mistakin’,” he remarked. 

“I-I,” the assistant stuttered, “we haven’t got a nanny for your children tonight. I’m afraid there isn’t anywhere else we can have them stay.” 

Louis sighed. “It’s all right,” he said, and he felt like he’d be saying that a lot in the coming days. “I’ll have them in my room.” 

The man looked at him wide-eyed, “Sir, are you sure? You can’t possibly want-“ 

Louis smiled, a bit disheartened by his father’s behaviour, “It’s all right.” And it would be. He’d make sure of it.

***

Later, once the cribs had arrived and the whole room was rearranged to accommodate them, Harry arrived. He looked just as tired as Louis, and maybe more disappointed.

“I heard it didn’t go so well,” he sighed and looked past Louis’ shoulder to look at the twins in their matching white cribs. 

Louis shrugged, “it was okay. It could’ve gone worse. I’m surprised he hasn’t broken anything yet.” He let Harry gather him up in his arms. Together, they took a few breaths, like a meditation. It didn’t make Louis much calmer. “I’m just embarrassed, is all.” 

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” Harry promised. He held onto Louis a little longer, arms thrown around his upper back. He spoke against Louis’ shoulder, puffing out warm breaths as he did. 

Louis shook his head. “Just wait until tomorrow morning. Sebastian’s mother is going to faint when she sees them.” He was dreading the next day, when everyone would see his family for who they were. They were nothing like Zayn’s perfectly behaved bunch, or Liam’s collection of older sisters. They certainly weren’t anything like Brenden Coleman’s scary father and perfectly primped mother. 

Harry scoffed, “Oh please. I have it on good authority that Maria Fairchild is one of the loveliest people on earth. She’ll probably try to become best friends with him by the end of breakfast.” 

“And what authority is that?” Louis asked. 

“My own,” he replied. “I met her once at a Ball in Austria when I was thirteen. She slipped me champagne and told me all about how her son and I would make smashing friends.” 

Louis laughed. “Is that why he’s here?”

“Yeah. I always figured I should see if we’d make as great friends as his mother promised.” Harry said, “but I haven’t really gotten to know him all that much. Seeing as I’ve been distracted by others.” He grinned and leaned down to peck Louis’ lips. 

“You’d like him,” Louis promised, “he’s nothing but kind.” 

Harry laughed, “you do know that you’re meant to be talking him down, right? He’s your competition, and you’re making him seem like a great prospect.” 

Louis leaned up to kiss Harry soundly. “I have it on good authority that if the selection ended tomorrow, I’d be yours, so I’m not all that threatened by Sebastian Fairchild and his fantastically kind mother.” Harry caught his lips again in return, and sucked on Louis’ bottom lip for a while, wrapping his hands around the small of Louis’ back and holding him against his chest. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” he asked after a while. 

Louis looked around nervously, the soft sounds of the babies snoring away echoed through the room, “you don’t have to stay,” he said, “I mean, they’ll probably wake up really early –if they even sleep through the night and I’m sure you want to get your beauty sleep before the Ball, so it’s probably best that your don’t-“ 

“Hey,” Harry interjected, “I thought you wanted me around!” He sounded a bit upset, but more jovial than anything else. Things were good between them, finally. Things could be good. 

Louis huffed and grabbed onto his hand. “I do want you around! I just don’t want you to be up all night with crying babies the night before your big event.” 

“Well I don’t want you to be either!” Harry exclaimed, circling his thumb into the back of Louis’ hand. “If I had it my way, you wouldn’t have to have them in here at all, but you might as well not have to be alone.” Louis sighed, and Harry took that to be agreement. “What are their names, just in case.” 

Louis led him into the bedroom and over to each of the cribs. The girl is Doris, and the boy is Ernest.” He pointed ta each of their sleeping heads, and Harry grinned and nodded along. 

“Those are old people’s names,” Harry chuckled, quiet not to wake them up. 

‘Well I didn’t name them!” he defended. And as they both laughed in half-whispered gasps.

Harry wrapped his hands around Louis from behind, looking over his shoulder at the little girl in front of them, snoring quietly the way that babies only do. He held his hands against Louis’ waist and fiddled with the buttons of his pajamas, not making any move to undo them, but just touching enough to let him know that he was there. He rested his chin on his shoulder, and held his cheek against the skin of his neck. Here, Louis could imagine what it might be like to have Harry forever, and to live in this palace with a family that he had created himself and spend every night like this, just enjoying the life he had created for himself. He reminded himself of what Harry had said, that he need to stop pushing him away. He leaned back into Harry’s chest, and let himself enjoy the moment.

The room was dark, save for the deep yellow of the lamp on his bedside table and the light from London outside, which bathed the room in warmth like a roaring fire. The let himself sink into it, and felt Harry on his neck and his shoulder, against his ribs and all over his back. He could imagine his whole life like this, just out of his reach. He could imagine an Autumn Ball every year, and one day knowing all the dances as well as walking. He could imagine one day slipping champagne to his own kids like Lady Fairchild had, and greeting his parents at the visitors entrance every Christmas, when he’d shower them in gifts that he could finally afford and opening them in the parlor, under a real tree that smelt like pine and had tinsel and fancy glass ornaments that would be broken every year by little children with curly hair, and Louis would just smile when they would be, and sweep up the pieces like nothing had happened. He’d give them the life he had always dreamed of, where nothing was ever wrong, even when it was. 

“I love babies,” Harry whispered, after minutes of silence. “I can’t wait to have my own.” He leaned in to kiss the juncture of Louis’ shoulder and neck, as if to tell him more than he could say. Louis knew. 

“It’ll be nice, yeah? I’ve got to see all my sisters grow up, and now these two, but they aren’t mine. I don’t get to feel responsible when they do things. God, they do the most fantastic things! Like the first time these two said my name, I actually cried, and every time one of my sisters said ‘Mum’ for the first time my mom did the same thing.” 

“I’ve never actually been with a baby for this long before,” Harry said, “It’s been a lot more of a passing thing. Royal events aren’t really places for little kids, so all of the noble kids were left at home. I spent a lot of time by myself as a kid. I don’t think I ever had a single friend, not until I was fifteen or sixteen. And even then, they’re only royals and nobles, so they’re required to be nice to me.” 

“You don’t have a single regular friend?” Louis gasped aloud. 

Harry laughed, “I didn’t get out much by myself under the age of eighteen.” 

“That’s a bit shit, isn’t it?” Harry laughed again, and pressed a kiss to Louis’ cheek. 

He nodded -just for the sake of it, because Louis couldn’t see. “What about you? I figure you had lots of friends in school. People are always telling me how funny you are, but you seem to keep to yourself an awful lot when all you boys are alone.” 

Louis shook his head, rubbing up against Harry every so often. “Just one in school. A guy called Stan. I haven’t seen him an awful lot since I finished. He went off to Uni in Manchester, and I stayed at home, so I haven’t seen him since the beginning of summer. He got a fancy music internship in London in July.” He shrugged at the memory, because it had stung –it still did. 

“That’s a bit shit, isn’t it?” Harry echoed. Louis chuckled, and nodded. He hadn’t minded so much since he’d arrived at the palace. He had Zayn –well, most of the time- and he had Harry, who he considered a friend in the truest sense of the word, even if his feelings were far more than platonic. He sighed, happy with their conversation. Even happier to be in his embrace. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” Louis said after a while, “I’ve got no doubt we’ll be up by six, so if we want to look any sort of presentable tomorrow, we had better asleep now.” Harry hands fell to his side. He let Louis grab his hand and lead him towards the bed, where they both climbed into their respective sides –how strange it was that they had sides-and Harry wrapped his arms back around Louis’ waist to sleep. They didn’t bother to turn off the lamp, so out of the corner of his eye Louis could see Harry’s face as he fell asleep, relaxed and youthful. He could imagine seeing it forever, and seeing it form wrinkles and age as he did.

***

It was Mary Ellen who woke him up in the morning, with her disapproving stare. Louis shot up in bed, assuming to find one of his siblings crying their eyes out, only to find –even more disconcertingly- that there wasn’t a sound in the whole room.

“Where are my brother and sister?” he asked, suddenly fearing that Mary Ellen may have done something to them. Logically, he knew that Mary Ellen wasn’t quite evil enough for that, but in his vaguely sleep-deprived mind, she may as well have been the Child Catcher from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. 

Mary Ellen sighed, and somehow her face grew even more patronising, “They’re with His Highness in the parlor. Do you hear that is wrong with that sentence, Louis?” She seemed to think that Harry was an invalid, destined to have things brought to him while he sat in a throne all day. That idea hadn’t reached Harry quite yet. 

“I’ll go to them,” he said, as he cast the bedding aside and stood up. He made a move towards the trousers he’d worn the night before, but the moment he picked them up off the floor, Mary Ellen scoffed. 

“Not like that you won’t!” she exclaimed, grabbing the trousers from his hands. “I’ll find you something suitable, you go freshen up in the meantime.” 

Louis made his way to the bathroom, shivering at the thought of whatever terrible ensemble she was going to force him to wear. For a moment, he just held his toothbrush in his hand, and made no move to put toothpaste on it, instead just stared at it. It struck him that rich people had a better version of nearly everything: better bed sheets, better water pressure in their showers, even better toilet paper, but they didn’t have better toothbrushes. At home, he had the exact same one, and he knew it cost about a pound. Had he been in any other situation he would laugh at the idea that English Royalty brushed their teeth with Crest, but –having been in the Prince of England’s bathroom- he knew he did. 

When he left the bathroom, having minty fresh breath and a smooth upper lip, Mary Ellen was just picking out a pair of God-awful dress shoes. She’d already set a black button up shirt and white pants (along with matching white suspenders) on his bed. Every muscle in his face had to refrain from telling her that he wasn’t going to wear that. With his jaw locked tight, he pulled the suspenders over his shoulders and went about his day. 

It was still early, so the palace was nearly silent, save for a couple of men running around trying to fix a clock and one girl bringing a tray of breakfast up the stairs. For the day of a Ball, it seemed too calm. Sometimes he wished that he could see what was happening downstairs, like in Downton Abbey or something. 

The parlor was filled with his family and no one else. Lottie and Fizzy had an IPad between them, clicking away at it and giggling quietly in the corner. His mum was sipping a cup of tea on one of the couches. But both of those details fell away when Louis caught the eye of Harry, who sat across from his mother with Doris in his lap, letting her tug at the longer bits of his hair. When he noticed Louis in the doorway, he grinned and waved a little wave more for the benefit of the baby than anyone else. 

“Lou!” she exclaimed, yelling but still barely above a regular volume. She smiled to show off two teeth that hadn’t been there when Louis left and it hurt for a moment to know that he was missing her grow. 

Harry laughed along with her as he approached, “I’ve been trying to get her to say my name for the better part of an hour and here you come waltzing in to ruin all our progress!” As Louis neared, he leaned his chin up to catch him in a kiss. He blushed when he found his mother smirking in the corner. 

“You’ve known her for a few minutes,” Louis reasoned, “you can’t possibly expect her to add you to her very limited vocabulary.” 

Harry made a face of shock, “I’ll have you know that we bonded quite well when we both woke up at four in the morning because we were hungry.” 

Louis chuckled, “The both of you?” 

Harry just scowled at him, so Louis kissed it softly off his face. A woman in a palace uniform brought him a cup of tea, just the way he liked it –a service which had always slightly disconcerted him. He took a careful sip, happy when it wasn’t too hot. 

“Why do you look like a clown?” Phoebe asked, and one look down at his outfit made the question quite valid. 

Harry laughed, his mum tried to fight through a fit of laughter to scold her daughter for such a rude remark, but when Louis laughed along too all the scolding was forgotten. 

“Well,” Louis started, realizing quite quickly that it would be considerably difficult to explain to his little sister that he was meant to play a character for television. “There are lots of people who help me with my life here –kind of like how mum helps you- and there are a couple of them who help with my clothes. One of those girls is still a bit confused about what I like to wear and we try very hard to be be kind to each other, so I sometimes let her pick out clothes that she likes, and sometimes I pick out things that I like.” It was tough to pretend to be happy about Mary Ellen’s choices, and even tougher to explain that he was a total push over who let his maid tell him what to do. 

Phoebe didn’t seem to read into it much more than that and instead shifted the conversation to herself like children normally did. “Will someone help me with my clothes for the Princess Ball?” 

Harry jumped in then, more than prepared to answer for Louis, “we’ve got very special people to help you. There’s even a princess dress that we made just for you!” Phoebe squealed. He knew that she’d squeal even more when she saw it. A curious pattern had emerged, in that each family had been given a colour to wear, and with Louis’ blazer already decided on by the Queen, the Tomlinson’s colour was silver. Phoebe and Daisy were both getting puffy dresses covered in silver sequins, slightly different but very much matching. Harry was right that she would look like a princess. 

“Harry!” she asked, and louis wondered if she knew that she was talking to the Prince of England, “Will there be kids my age? Or just old people?” 

Harry had an answer to that as well. “There will be mostly old people,” Phoebe frowned, “I know, I’m sorry love, but there will be a couple of kids around too. One or two of the boys have little brothers or sisters around your age, and one of my very close friends is named Henri, and he has a little brother –just your age- named Mathieu, who you might like.” 

Prince Harry of England was trying to set his little sister up with the Prince of Monaco! Gosh, what a wild world Louis lived in now! 

She seemed sated enough by that answer, and went back to watching her TV program on mute. 

Louis shot him a look, but Harry just smiled innocently and pecked him on the cheek. He wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and it felt wrong to show so much affection in front of his family. They had probably seen it on the television every night for weeks, but it felt wrong to be so public with him right in front of them. He thanked the Gods that his father wasn’t there to see it. 

“So, his mother began, ‘what’s on the agenda for today?” She seemed jolly enough and quite excited for the day ahead. It made Louis happy to see her so at ease. She deserved a nice day –if only the one.

The question hadn’t been directed anywhere, but the woman who had brought his tea jumped in to answer. “Breakfast will begin in ten minutes in the secondary Ballroom, a few of the families have arrived early. Afterwards you are free to explore for the morning before preparations will begin shortly after lunch.” 

“After lunch!” she replied, shocked, “how much preparing can one person do? It’s only a party!”

***

Louis’ mum was right, it did seem like a superfluous amount of time to prepare for, but once he had bathed and had his skin fixed with a variety of face masks and –what seemed to be- a surplus of oils dripped onto his face to –reportedly- solve various problems he hadn’t even known he’d had, there were only a couple of hours left to make him pretty by six pm.

Around three, Harry stopped by. He must’ve been doing rounds to each room, because Mary Ellen had a glass of champagne in his hand the moment he walked in (she had yet to offer one to Louis). Harry’s hair had been done up by then, artfully tousled like he had just rolled out of bed (maybe even Louis’ bed). He was all glittery smiles, and it felt just like a Prom montage from Gossip Girl or something where he’d finally get the boy and have the night of his life (or end up crying in the bathroom all alone). 

“I’m running out of gifts for you,” Harry said, between a sip of his drink, “Well, not really, but it’s getting difficult not to buy you five of the same thing.” Louis didn’t know whether to ask any more about it, but quickly Harry reached into the inner pocket of his blazer to pull out a little box. It was bigger than the jewelry boxes he was used to, and a sleek black. 

It was a watch; Louis had suspected that. It was small, dainty enough that it didn’t swallow his wrist in fine leather. Louis just looked at Harry as a thank you, because Mary Ellen would definitely look at him like she’d prefer to see him on death row if he kissed him. 

Harry seemed to understand, “I figured that I’d save your styling team from choosing one, and maybe save you from some ghastly one covered in diamonds.” Louis did kiss him then, because he deserved it if he’d rescued him from the embarrassment of showing up in front of his parents wearing something glittering in thousands of pounds of jewels. He would have been better off spraying hundred dollar bills all over them. 

He fingered the little airplane necklace at his neck. He’d taken to doing that lately, ever since he and Harry had had their wonderful week. He liked it best of all of Harry’s gifts. The first bracelet was pretty, and expensive to say the least, but it hadn’t meant much more than interest. His flower arrangements were lovely, but they wilted quickly, and he never got the chance to get awfully attached to any one of them (they were still coming, by the way). He liked the airplane because it wasn’t very expensive (he’d googled it) and every time he felt it he thought that Harry really cared about him. He remembered that he had picked it out especially after a conversation they’d had and Harry had cared enough to go out and get it.

***

Sometime around 5, long after Harry had left to visit someone else, his sisters all came in in a blizzard of silver and sequins. They’d all had their hair done up extra special and had shimmery eyelids and glossy lips. The makeup artist must’ve been waiting for months to do anything beyond powder in a selection full of men, so it seemed she’d had a field day with his sisters.

The twins flopped onto his bed, and when Mary Ellen tried to scold them, they just laughed at her. It was refreshing. Lottie was all talk about how mum had let her have half a glass of champagne while they were getting ready and how she felt very old in her dress because it wasn’t puffy like her sisters’ (if Louis had put in a special request about that, she didn’t have to know). He tried his best to converse while someone fluffed and re-fluffed his hair. His blazer was still hung on a hanger on the back of his bathroom door and immediately it was the only topic the room could focus on. In his sisters’ minds, a boy could only wear black or blue let alone a blazer choc full of sequins.

When his mum came in, she could only see the flowers. “My God, Louis! Have you started a greenhouse?” she’d exclaimed, and he’d had to laugh it off because explaining that Harry sent him an arrangement every couple of days (sometimes twice a day if he’d done something a bit awful) was a bit hard. His mum looked like a Queen. Louis had seen her big ball gown before, but something about having it on her made it look so much better. She took up half of his room with her massive skirts, but as she walked she looked right regal in layers upon layers of silver and grey and white. Louis imagined that she might’ve been the moon goddess at one point in time. 

Once Louis had been powdered and fluffed and helped into his jacket, they had just enough time to drink another glass of champagne (his mum was in such a great mood that Louis had been able to sneak one to Lottie without her even caring), and they chatted while Mary Ellen took calls on a walkie-talkie like he was the Prime Minister, or –more fittingly- a Prince.

***

The Ball was in full swing by the time the selected men were due to enter. Just outside the doors, he could hear music pounding and people talking so much that it sounded like the false background noise people liked to fall asleep to. They’d been lined up in twos with their dancing partners, and Andre looked just as stuck up as he had when they’d first met, this time with fancier glasses and his hair done up a bit nicer.

They walked in arm in arm, and Louis let himself be dragged along as he took in the scenery. He’d never been in a ballroom for he’d arrive at the palace, hell, he’d never even been to a banquet hall! The room was bathed in orange light, and decorated in massive white flower arrangements A band played on a stage masked in big white curtains. Something about all the glittering lights made it feel as if he was walking through a dreamscape and any wrong move might wake him up. 

One by one, as the boys stepped onto dance floor they were announced through the whole room, and every person attending fell eerily silent. 

“The Lord of Beds, Sebastian Fairchild” the far off voice announced, and Sebastian bowed graciously. It had never struck Louis to think that anyone in the selection might actually be of nobility, but it seemed one in three had some title or another. “Earl of Lancashire, King Walker, The Honorable Xavier Johnson, Earl of West Canterbury, John Manson.” Most surprisingly was “The Viscount Ashbrook, Niall Horan.”

Niall strode onto the floor like a little girl in a ballet recital, and happily gave the most uproarious bow, as it seemed he was something infamous amongst British nobility. He laughed along with their cheers, giving two extra bows just for the show of it. 

When they finished with those already in English society, they began to announce names with their escort’s titles along with them. “Zayn Malik, accompanied by The Duke of Rothesay.” The two of them walked carefully onto the floor. Zayn’s young escort nearly tripped over himself on the way in, but quickly steeled himself to bow. Zayn got modest cheers, nothing in comparison to Niall’s but certainly worth bragging home about. 

“Marcus Silverman, accompanied by The Duke of Brandon,” Marcus walked in like a rugby player, with his wide shoulders and buzzed haircut. He looked a bit criminal, like a mob boss or a hit man. 

One more boy and then it was Louis’ turn. It felt as if the whole world was watching him, and they might as well have been, when everyone who was anyone was in attendance of this Ball. From the corner of his eye, Louis could see the Queen of Denmark who he had met at tea with Queen Anne, and around the room were spotted the other women he had gotten to know. 

“Louis Tomlinson, accompanied by The Marquis of Huntly” Andre marched them to the middle, and when he released Louis’ arm, they both bowed the way he had been coached through for the better part of an hour. 

The room went up in cheers, and Louis couldn’t figure out why. Of course his family was on their feet, but they were far from alone. All around him, the ladies from Anne’s tea had taken to their feet, hands clapping gracefully but loud. Perhaps no where near as close to the level of Niall’s, but outrageously loud in comparison to those without titles. He had to stand there, and bask in it for a while (mostly because no one dared tells royalty to shut up). Andre had taken a step behind him, so Louis couldn’t subtly look to him for advice. When it had gone on for a couple of minutes, he took Niall’s example for gospel and took another bow. The room went up in cheers again, but this time Louis walked swiftly out of the middle of the floor and took his place on the side with everyone else. 

It was a truly out of body experience. It was like for a moment Louis was Niall or Sebastian or even Harry. A glimpse of a world where he was loved, and cherished. A world where people knew his name. Like he had drifted into the twilight zone or something equally unlikely. 

The last couple of boys came through, each as nervous as Louis but none with foreign Kings and Queens on their feet. Beside him, Andre looked smug as anything. 

Their dance went as well as a debut dance could. Louis tried his best to remember the corrections he had gotten the past few days: elbows up, toes pointed, look more regal, be less stiff. He couldn’t tell if he had done them right this time, perhaps because this was the extent of his dance experience. 

When the final note rang out, the audience clapped politely, as if they hadn’t noticed how weird it was that their society welcomed people by dancing for them. It was a bit reminiscent of a strip club, with a lot more violins. 

The rest of the boys joined the debutants for the next dance. A B-team of noble dance partners flooded into the room to join them, mostly pimple-y faced and lanky boys under twenty fumbled around grabbing the hands of the higher ranking selected men, all of which were seasoned professionals when it came to waltzing. 

Niall had a surprising amount of rhythm in his body, although Louis was now sure he was absolutely full of surprises, and Louis tried his best to follow the way he led his partner prancing around the room before eventually yielding to Andre. 

From the sidelines, he caught Harry’s eyes on him. Not all the time, but whenever he spent even a couple of seconds looking, his eyes would flick up soon after. Louis smiled to himself. 

When they broke apart, Andre led him off the floor, and the room was left to Harry. Louis had known that there would be a chosen first dance, someone who Harry would dance with in front of the whole crowd. It had, however, been shrouded in so much secrecy that Louis hadn’t even known how he was going to pick. 

The whole room was silent, every eye was on Harry, as he stood in the middle of the room. Slowly, he took a step forward, in no direction towards the two groups of men on either side of the floor. Then, he turned to his right, and walked away from Louis towards the second group. Someone in the back of the room gasped. Andre made a face. 

“ _I thought he was fond of you,_ ” he whispered, almost as if he hadn’t been chosen too. It was the longest thing he had ever said in Louis’ presence since they’d met, and he was bitterly angry about it. 

Louis shrugged, careful not to look disappointed in front of the guests. “ _He’s fond of all of us, that’s why we’re here._ ” 

Andre scoffed, “ _please!_ ” 

Harry’s hand found Miles’ and with a bright smile on his face, the two of them returned to the center of the floor. The room went up in uproarious applause, on their feet and smiling blindingly white smiles so wide that you could see all the way to the back of their mouths. 

Harry smiled brightly, and presented the two of them. Louis realized he might as well leave then. It wasn’t as if Harry would choose anyone else after he’d showed Miles off like that. 

Louis didn’t pay attention to their dance. Instead he looked straight through them to Zayn, and stared into his eyes long enough that he hoped he’d conveyed _bathroom_. When Zayn nodded, he waited patiently for the final note and for Harry to bow graciously to break form. 

He took off quickly down the hall, if he’d been a woman, he might’ve grabbed his skirts as he did, but he wasn’t, so he only held his tears in his eyes and walked as briskly as he could without taking off in a sprint. 

He thought he might have a couple of private moments before Zayn (and quite likely Liam) arrived to console him, but the moment he looked in the mirror of the vanity, Andre’s lean figure loomed against the wall. 

“I-uh,” Louis stuttered, trying to sniff his nose and draw his tears back in at the same time, “I’m sorry I ran off like that. I’ll just be, here –yeah- for a while, I think. Go enjoy the party.” 

Andre nodded, but he didn’t move from his place. He was silent for a moment, and then, “he’s an idiot if he doesn’t end up with you,” he said, quietly. “I just thought you should know that. Everyone knows he’s in love with you. When I told my mum that I’d gotten you as my partner she said I ought to make sure you were the best dancer, because the Prince Consort of England couldn’t be bad.” 

Louis sniffled, but somewhere between tears a sort of reluctant smile had emerged, “He isn’t in love with me. We’ve spoken about it, but it’s a nice sentiment.” 

Zayn and Liam walked in then, quietly, like they’d been on their toes. Andre nodded to them, “I’ll leave you to your friends, but I wanted you to know that if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on you.” 

Louis nodded back, because they were too friendly to shake hands, but certainly not close enough to hug him goodbye, and with that Andre had disappeared as softly as he had come. 

“Oh Lou,” Zayn had sighed, and gathered with was left of Louis up in his arms. He let Louis shake in his embrace, and didn’t even mind when a salty tear stained the lapel of his dusty rose suit. 

In his pocket, Louis’ phone buzzed non-stop. He didn’t pick it up. 

Louis wiped the tears from his face as best as he could, and when he still looked terrible (red dimmed eyes and a pale complexion that didn’t match what was left of his foundation) he just shrugged at his reflection. “We should get back,” he sniffed, “I don’t want it to be more of a big deal than it already was.” 

Zayn tried to clean Louis’ face with a washcloth from beside the sink, but it only left him with running mascara (because Perrie had insisted he had the eyelashes for it). “Shit” he spoke under his breath, when each stroke picked up more and more orange powder and big streaks of black that surely ruined the cloth forever. 

The door opened again, and Louis made a move to hide from whoever had come in, but when Niall Horan walked in with a glass too full of gin and thrust it his way, he sighed. Louis took it graciously, and downed half in one gulp, gagging at the bitterness that shot up his throat when he did. 

Niall pulled pressed powered out of his pocket and a whole packet of makeup remover. He made quick work of fixing up Louis’ face, and lined his eyes in nude liner to cover up most of the red. “I’ve had my fair share of tears in the bathroom,” he replied when asked, “British peerage is a hotbed for drama, and I’ve been burned before, but I think Harry was the only person in that room who wasn’t absolutely shocked by that.” 

Louis took a deep breath, hoping to save his voice from wavering when he spoke, “He’s the only one who matters though.” 

Niall scoffed, “far from it, actually. If you decided you didn’t want him at the end of this, I can name twelve boys in that room who would propose on the spot.” Louis didn’t want another person. He didn’t want a Duke or a Lord or a Marquis or a Viscount or whatever else there was to be in this strange social system. He only wanted Harry. He didn’t want to be the Prince Consort, he wanted to be Harry’s husband. 

‘Now,” Zayn cut in, “let’s go back in there, a remind him what he’s missing? Yeah?” 

Louis nodded carefully, and they all walked back in together.

***

Later that night, after Louis had kissed most of his sisters goodbye, and only Lottie remained, be went to the bar to grab the umpteenth drink of the night. He wasn’t drunk. He was just buzzing.

While he waited for the bartender, someone sidled up beside him. “Who would have thunk it, huh?” a familiarly brash voice spoke, “my son, a fag! And not even a good enough fag to get the Prince to sleep with him!” 

Louis didn’t have anything to say to his father. He didn’t even know what he wanted him to say. So he looked over at him, and saw him for a moment, as he was. His jacket had come off hours ago, and his hair had fallen over his face in a sweaty clump. The first three buttons of his shirt had come undone and he had greying stubble growing in across his face. He imagined what it might be like to be him. Was it fun to have nothing but selfish feelings? He figured he might as well try. “It’s okay,” he told him, “I’ve got enough jewelry on me to pay the rent for a couple years.” 

His father smiled, as clapped and hand on his back, “I’d knew you’d make yourself useful eventually! That’s my boy!” He grabbed the drink Louis had ordered, and downed it in one go and ventured back out to the dance floor, bopping around like a total drunkard. 

Louis’ hand went to grab his necklace. The airplane probably wouldn’t even buy his father a gram. He’d hand over the brand new Hublot watch, and maybe even his Cartier bracelet, but he didn’t think he could part with the necklace.

He took a sip of the second drink he’d had to order in a row, and looked out to the dance floor. Harry had meant to dance with every one of them that night, and he was on Marcus Silverman, who still looked like he might tackle Harry mid foxtrot. 

“Have you met my son?” a woman approached, for a moment Louis thought she might be talking to someone behind him, but she looked right at him until he shook his head. 

The woman’s son was maybe Louis’ age, maybe a year or two older, and he looked awfully bashful behind his mother. “This is Mackenzie, he’s just around your age and I think the two of you would get along smashingly.” 

Louis remembered Harry telling him that Lady Fairchild had said the same thing. He knew it was code for here’s my gay son, marry him please. She left her son alone then, and he stood there scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

“So,” he started, and the boy quickly realized he hadn’t anything to say, so they fell into silence again. “I feel like this is a bit illegal.” 

“Why?” Louis wondered aloud. It didn’t seem illicit in the slightest to make new friends, unless he planned to hook up with Louis that evening because he was definitely not doing that. 

“Well,” Mackenzie tried again, a bumbling mess when it came to conversation, “you’re clearly betrothed, and you’ve got better prospects than a lowly Earl.” 

Louis wanted to laugh out loud. Never in his life had he heard an Earl refer to himself as an underling –then again, he’d never heard an Earl say anything at all. “I’m not betrothed, actually. I mean, after the showing tonight I don’t think I’m even involved.” 

Mackenzie laughed, even when Louis didn’t. “My sister nearly fainted when he did that. Have you figured out why? No one can wrap their head around it.” 

Louis nodded, “because he prefers Miles to me.” 

Mackenzie laughed, “funny,” he commented, and when it became clear that Louis hadn’t been joking, his eyebrows dropped over his eyes, “You don’t seriously think that?” 

Louis shrugged, “it isn’t like he was going to present someone he wasn’t going to marry to the whole of English society.”

Mackenzie frowned, “he releases a picture of him making out with Wolf Harvey every three days. It’s all for show, that sort of stuff. It’s for the public, those who aren’t in the know. Anyone who knows Wolf Harvey knows that he’s perfectly kind –kind enough to agree to that sort of thing- but a bit of a slut –just enough to be okay with having his face plastered over tabloids.” 

Louis had never thought about that sort of thing. He’d just thought that Wolf was a bit of an exhibitionist, and liked making out in easily photographed hallways. He’d also never thought that people knew who Wolf Harvey was, but he also wouldn’t have pegged half of the boys for Lords and here he was. 

“Miles is a bit of a nobody, but he’s popular amongst the viewers. I figure that if he had chosen you, people would have lost interest, because it would be clear who was winning, and we’re only half way through. It’s all about media perception, I think. But,” he paused, “if it doesn’t work out, and you ever find yourself in Jersey, I think we’d all love to have you.” 

Mackenzie shrunk back into the crowd after that, and Louis couldn’t get his words out of his head. Even more so, Harry’s words echoed, if the selection ended tomorrow, it would be you. 

Without asking, one of the bartenders set a fruity cocktail in front of him and with a sympathetic smile said, “you seemed like you need it.” And then turned away, only to come back a moment later, “I’m on team Louis, by the way.” 

Louis smiled, and took a little sip of this new concoction. 

He was so absorbed in what the bartender had said (did he even have a team?) that he didn’t see Harry until he was right beside him. 

“You didn’t answer my texts,” he said first, and louis hardly thought he had the right to be angry at him. 

“Been a bit busy with the Ball,” Louis replied, and it technically wasn’t true, but it was the best he could come up with when Harry’s hand was stroking at his waist.

“Do you want to dance?” Harry asked, and Louis knew that he was technically required to dance with every one of them, so it didn’t feel all that sincere. 

“Not particularly,” Louis said, a bit too bitterly for a neutral conversation. “I was thinking I’d take my leave after this drink.” 

“It’ll only take a minute or two,” Harry insisted. 

Louis set his glass back down onto the bar, and motioned to the tender that he was finished. “They’ll just edit together clips from earlier this week and it’ll look just the same.” 

Harry sighed, “you’re always mad at me!” 

“Of course I’m mad at you!” Louis replied, just as pissed off as Harry. “You picked Miles Seaman over me in front of everyone! You know my father told me I wasn’t a good enough fag tonight? Because he did! So forgive me if I’m not in the mood to dance with you.” 

“Louis…” Harry said, suddenly full of remorse. 

No! Nope! We aren’t doing this right now.” Louis stopped him. “Maybe tomorrow, maybe never, but we aren’t doing this now.” 

“Lou, just let me-“ 

“Nope!” Louis repeated, “And I don’t need a fucking flower arrangement or some fancy present to fix it, okay. What I need is a whole lot of time to be mad, so I’m going to leave now and you can go back to your Ball.”

***

Later that night, while Louis lay in bed, too angry to relax, he heard something hit the ground of his balcony. He knew where it had come from, he knew who is was for, but he didn’t dare get up to get it, for fear of throwing whatever it was into the streets of London at an interminable velocity. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it angst? Was it fluff? Can I write anything other than introspective drama? Who knows!


	10. Week 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After much feedback from many people, I've decided to shorten our chapters a bit. Partly because wait-times get out of control, but also because if I don't, this fic will be 170,000 words and thats just overkill. Enjoy a new chapter faster though.

Wolf Harvey is at his door in the morning, all six feet of him with his hair done up like he’d spent an hour on it, but he was only wearing a t-shirt and joggers. At first, Louis thought to let him know that he was at the wrong door, but when he squeaked out a little “hi,” he just opened the door further to let him in. 

Wolf took a seat on his bed –which seemed awfully informal- and sat as straight as a board with his hands tucked neatly in his lap like a child in trouble. He wrung his hands together for a while, and wouldn’t look up at Louis even as he sat in his bedroom. 

“I’m not quite sure why I’m here,” he started, a rather unenthusiastic start by any measure, “I was just thinking about it, and it felt wrong not to let you know that I was leaving.” 

“Leaving!” Louis exclaimed. He hadn’t thought in a million years that Wolf would leave the Selection voluntarily. He seemed to be thriving in it, capturing Harry’s attention better than Louis could and raising a considerable fan base in his wake. He was popular amongst everyone involved. “What on earth would you do that for?” 

Wolf looked down at his hands. For a while he just avoided eye-contact, but after that a little smile blossomed across his face and he looked back up at Louis with a face like none other. “I’ve received a proposal,” he said, “and I’ve accepted.”

“From who?” Louis asked, because it wasn’t possible that more than two people in the palace were in a situation like Zayn and Liam’s, especially not with the way Wolf had been so forward with Harry. 

Wolf shrugged, as if it didn’t matter, but trudged on anyways, “The Duke of Westminster, Henry. We’d been courting before I arrived here, and I figured we’d be finished with it once I was chosen, but he came to the Ball last night and told me that he couldn’t live without me, and, well, I’ve found it rather hard to live without him.” He ducked down to smile again, and Louis couldn’t help a grin falling across his own face at the news. “He even had a ring,” Wolf said, eyes still downcast. He went into his pocket, and pulled out a gold band, made of two intertwining strips of metal and little diamonds in the bits where they diverged. 

“It’s beautiful,” Louis sighed, looking upon it from afar, as it seemed Wolf wasn’t willing to part with it from the way he gripped it in all of his fingers. 

Wolf blushed and nodded, “it’s awfully _me_ , I think.” He pulled the ring back into his face to look at it himself, “I didn’t know I’d like being engaged this much,” he laughed, and suddenly the image Louis had conjured up of what Wolf must be like melted away. Gone was the prowling animal, gone was the watchful eye of a lion preparing for its prey. Instead, Wolf was nothing more than a boy like him, and he was a boy absolutely giddy at the prospect of his upcoming marriage. 

“I hope you’ll invite me to the wedding,” Louis smiled. 

Wolf made a face, “Well it would be bad form not to invite the Prince of England, wouldn’t it?” 

Louis kind of wanted to hit him over the head, but they’d just gotten friendly with each other and it seemed wrong to ruin something so lovely with violence. Even worse, he didn’t seem to question that he was speaking the truth. 

“We can’t know who Harry will choose,” Louis sighed, trying to avoid the thought for a moment. 

Wolf scoffed, and tucked his ring back into his pocket, “we can, actually,” he insisted, “it’ll be you. Harry told me this morning that unless you took of in the middle of the night –which was a real concern, by the way- he was going to have you as his consort.” 

“Well, he didn’t tell me that, and he seems to have told Miles the opposite last night on the dance floor, so I think that information might be false.” 

“He told you that it would be you,” Wolf reminded him, “Harry told me that to my face. He wants you, and he keeps screwing it up because he’s not very intelligent, but he wants you.” 

“Why would he go and show off Miles then?” Louis asked, “What use is it to pretend he’s going to pick someone he isn’t.” 

“Because it isn’t always his choice what he does,” Wolf replied, “He’s got a lot of people working very hard to stretch out this selection to thirteen weeks when it could have ended a month ago.” 

“And he wouldn’t tell me this because…” Louis pressed on.

“Because he isn’t allowed to. Think about it,” Wolf replied, easy as anything, “if you had known he was going to pick Miles, you wouldn’t have reacted half as dramatically as you did. They’re desperate for drama now, and they needed a good ‘run from the Ballroom’ moment.” 

“So I’m a pawn in his game?” Louis chuckled, with little humour.

“You’re a pawn in the BBC’s game,” Wolf corrected, “It’s entirely different. Harry is just doing what he’s contractually obligated to do, which is stir up whatever drama they make him, and drag it out for another seven weeks until he can finally announce he’s marrying you and come to my perfect spring wedding.” 

An interesting thought. As much as he wanted to believe it, Harry was always saying that it was his game, and that _he did whatever he liked_. To belittle him to a TV personality seemed wrong, but Louis had seen the eliminations every week, where Harry was poked and prodded and positioned just right to deliver a speech written on cue cards behind the cameras. Was it so far fetched to think that he was being told the lines for things like the Ball too? 

“I’m still not apologizing for being angry,” Louis replied, after he’d spent enough time deciding if Wolf had a possibility of being right. 

Wolf looked offended at the idea, ‘Oh I’d hope you won’t!” he insisted, “he’s was a total dick, and I think he deserves to suffer a bit for it, but when he comes to apologize to you, I think you should at least entertain the idea of forgiving him.” He paused then, muddling over something in his head. “And if you don’t, I don’t know if you’ll ever find someone who cares as much about anyone as Harry cares about you.” 

Louis smiled, “what about your duke?” 

Wolf laughs, and shrugs –caught in his own trap. “Henry cares for me more than anyone will ever care for _me_ and that’s all I need.” 

“Well,” Louis smiled, softening by the way Wolf seemed to light up at any mention of his fiancé, “I wish you the very best,” 

Wolf got up then, and wrapped his arms around Louis. He rested his head on Louis’ shoulder in a way he never would have expected someone like Wolf would and when he pulled away from their embrace, was smiled into Louis’ eyes and replied, “And I you. I’ll be watching. And know that if Miles pulls anything to get you thrown out, I’ve got an army of boys still here, ready to lay down their swords for their Prince.” 

Louis never would have thought that he would be the Prince of England soon, but from the confident words of everyone he had spoken to in the past couple of days. It was becoming clear that people had begun to believe it before he did. At least it was a boost of confidence, even if it never came to fruition. 

“I’ll tell you now, your friend Xavier, he scares the crap out of me,” Louis joked. 

Wolf nodded, “He used to scare me too, even when we were kids. He’s really not very mean, he’s just got an intimidating face.” 

They laughed together after that, and when Louis admitted that he’s always pictured Wolf as something of a predator, he chuckled and told Louis he’d always thought of him as a bit of a witch for the way he’d captured Harry’s attention in a moment. They talked about Harry, and Wolf told him of the first time he’d met the Prince, when they’d both been twelve or thirteen and had spoken a single word to the other through the whole dinner. He also told Louis of how he’d fallen in love with the Duke of Wellington, when they’d met at a Ball five years ago, and made awkward eye contact while they’d danced with girls their own age until Henry had finally found the courage to speak to him. He spoke with so much joy, and even when he spoke about their time apart, he quickly found his smile again. 

When Louis was left in his room again, he couldn’t help but think of what Wolf had said. That he’d never seen someone care as much as Harry did for him. He cared for Harry so resolutely: he cared for Harry more than he cared for little else (maybe his family) and even after only a month and a half of being with him, he couldn’t imagine being without him.

***

Elimination was much more emotional than it had ever been. Instead of the regular, nearly robotic, audience of London elites in many dresses and hats that didn’t cover their heads, the seats were filled with their families. Louis’ took a whole row with the sheer volume of them and under the bright lights, he could just spot their noses peaking out from the very back row. In front, Wolf’s mother, father and younger brother sat looking solemn. They must’ve know that Wolf’s name would be announced that night, and even if they had known the reason, it would hurt to see their son turned away from the palace. 

Louis had been placed in the back row of their increasingly shrinking bleachers. He hoped that meant he wasn’t going to be interviewed, but he couldn’t help but stare at the back of Miles’ head where he stood at the very front, right in the centre. 

Harry came in smiling bright. Louis may have been pissed as anything, but still the sight of him managed to light up his chest in a flutter. He was wearing a suit made of both hounds-tooth and glitter, and it shouldn’t have worked, but somewhere between it being ugly on the rack and Harry it had become the best suit he’d ever seen. 

He stood on the x taped on the floor, right behind the microphone positioned at exactly his height and nailed into the floor below and leaned in to test that it was on. 

“Rolling!” someone form the far back yelled. 

Harry turned on his smile even more, until he was a crinkled around the eyes. “I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight. Today, instead of our regular studio audience, we are joined by families of the selected boys. I’d like to thank each and every one of them for joining us last night for the Palace’s Autumn Ball. It was great fun, and I’m sure many of you enjoyed seeing it just before our elimination started. If you missed it, as always, footage of the selection is available on the Palace website.” Louis always found it kind of hilarious that they made the Prince of England make an announcement as to where to catch an episode of the selection. “Tonight, there will be no interviews, as the Ball footage was consolidated into an extra long special. We will move straight into the elimination now.” 

Louis shivered, but thanked whatever God was smiling down on him that he didn’t have to hear Miles going on and on about how wonderful their dance had been, and how wonderful it was that Harry was so confident in their relationship to choose him. 

Instead, the room quieted. In the silence, everyone’s parents seemed to look to one and other, wondering in they’d be taking their son home that day. 

“Oi!” a sound came rumbling from the audience and the whole room turned, “we gettin’ paid for this?” 

Louis wanted to cry. Or maybe run out again, when his father’s head popped out from the lights, all eyes on him. 

“Cut!” a voice behind the camera yelled, and all of a sudden the whole room was on their feet, running around to change cameras. Still, in all the bustle of it, Louis didn’t miss a single person up at the back row to ask his father to leave. When he tore his eyes away from it, for fear of turning too red with embarrassment, he caught Harry looking straight at him, a sympathetic look on his face. 

It was exactly what Louis had always feared would happen with his father at the palace. It was four in the afternoon, and the man was already blackout drunk. He had drawn the attention of everyone in the room, and even Lady Fairchild looked disturbed by him. Now everyone would know what a mess his family was and how completely unfit he was for the throne. 

Eventually, when the studio door had closed behind his father and the stage-hand. Everything fell silent again. 

Without prelude, Harry launched straight into the names. “Harry Chen,” and Harry stumbled from the second set of bleachers. It was miracle he’d made it that far –it wasn’t as if Prince Harry could have been married to another Prince Harry. It would have been too confusing. Unfortunate, because even if Harry Chen had captured Prince Harry’s heart, they would have been torn apart by their names. _Star-crossed Harrys_ , Louis joked to himself. Harry Chen didn’t seem to phased by being sent away, perhaps he had known too that his name had made it impossible in the first place. 

“Marcus Silverman.” Big, lumbering Marcus came down from the other side of Louis. He looked disappointed, but not heartbroken. He’d find someone else, that would be easy enough. He was an attractive boy, and he’d probably make a good professional athlete if the Royalty-thing didn’t work out. 

“James Harper.” He was a fairly forgettable character if Louis was honest. He was tall, blond and chiselled. If this had been any other group, he probably would have been the most attractive one in the room, but between the sixteen other boys all around him, be was barely above average. 

“And finally,” Harry announced, clearly disappointed to have to announce it, “Wolf Harvey.” The room went up in gasps, even the families of boys who had already been sent home were confused, but Louis smiled (careful not the let the cameras think he was happy at Wolf’s failure) and watched as Wolf walked to Harry to pull him into an embrace. 

From the corner of his eye, Louis caught sight of a man he hadn’t recognized, clapping louder than everyone else.

***

Later that night, Wolf sent him a picture of him and the man from the audience. _My Harry_ he captioned it, and Louis sent him a heart emoji back.

***

Louis awoke the next morning to the sound of rain on his window. He’d become used to the sound, since the fall had come in full force and started to pour from the sky for at least a little every day. 

For a moment, he welcomed the sound, until all of a sudden he shot up with the realization that he had yet to pick up whatever Harry had dropped onto his balcony. 

In his pajamas, he went sprinting out onto the balcony, desperately looking around for an object that he didn’t even know of. The little droplets hit his head and washed over into his eyes as he bent under the chair and table to search. When he wiped a rather large raindrop out of eye, he finally caught sight of it. In the corner, like it had been angled from above and nearly missed. Exactly as Louis expected it. 

It was a pile of envelopes. While Louis had expected something more exciting, and possibly more extravagant, it wasn’t made of diamonds or a massive bouquet of flowers, so he would accept it. 

On top, there was a letter folded in what he recognized as palace stationary.

_You said you didn’t want gifts, but I don’t think these are presents in any sense of the word. Maybe just an explanation. Find me once you’ve read them.  
-Haz_

There were two others, both addressed to Harry from the _British Broadcasting Corporation._

_To His Royal Highness Prince Harry,  
We have received you request to end for selection prematurely, and while we are glad to hear that you know who you would like to marry, we cannot grant this request. We at the BBC have been working very hard to make sure the selection has been as successful as possible, and –as per the contract made with the Palace Television Team- it is imperative that the selection lasts for thirteen weeks as planned. As sated in your contract, we also do not accept the request to continue the selection with just one option, as this is a violation of section 3.1 which states that the Selection will end with the Prince’s final choice from at least two possible partners. We also caution the Prince from attempting to circumvent this ruling as the BBC reserves the right to choose the eliminations in conjunction with the Prince (section 4.2), a power the kind people on the Selection project on our end have get to exercise.   
We’ll be in touch,  
Barnaby Turner, BBC_

While Louis sensed the television network was in the right, it seemed illegal to threaten the Prince like that. Even if he was technically subjected to the same laws Louis was, there was no way anyone was going to dare sue the Prince of England for breach of contract. No way. Or, at least, Louis doubted it. Maybe he shouldn’t. the BBC seemed kind of cut throat. 

He tucked that letter back into it’s soggy envelope and placed it onto his bedside table. The second one had avoided direct rainfall, but enough moisture had soaked through the first one that it was decidedly damp.

_To His Royal Highness Prince Harry,  
Since we last spoke, our team has become increasingly concerned with a lack of interest in many of your contestants. From polls conducted by our Selection team, we have uncovered that 80% of our viewers believe that you will be choosing Mr. Tomlinson at the end of the thirteen-week period. In order to maintain interest in the Selection, we ask you to choose a more diverse set of partners for the cameras to obverse. May we suggest the Autumn Ball as the perfect opportunity for this? If you choose not to cooperate with our suggestions, we may have to take more drastic measures, such as eliminating certain options from your group pre-maturely.   
We request that you keep this information strictly confidential.  
Well Wishes,  
Barnaby Turner, BBC_

Louis twitched at the thought. Perhaps it was conceited to assume who would be terminated “pre-maturely” but after the mention of his name a couple of lines above, it seemed pretty clear what they meant. Harry had had to hurt him to save him. If he ever met Barnaby Turner, he’d rip the man limb from limb. What horrible people they must be to be so concerned with drama and viewer interest that they’d entertain ruining Harry’s relationship with him? He could barely breath without being so completely upset about all of it. 

Somewhere between _seething_ and remembering that Wolf had said to wait for Harry to come apologize to him, he’d typed out a tweet from his (brand new) twitter account.

_Don’t trust what you BB-see_

Afterwards, he lay back in bed, feeling resolutely proud of himself for sticking it to the man. Maybe it was silly, but he was quite happy when the first replies started to come in, most people understanding his meaning immediately. He smiled how clever he had been, what a smart pun he’d made!

He didn’t get to appreciate it for too long, because there was a knock on his door a couple of moments after the tweet when live. 

It was Harry, in his pajama pants, and an St. Andrews sweatshirt –because of course he’d gone to St. Andrews. He looked half like he’d just woken up with his eyes squinted up at the bright light from Louis’ bedroom. 

“Did you just sub-tweet the BBC?” he asked, as if he couldn’t believe what he had read on the phone still open in his left hand. 

“Did I _what_?” Louis asked incredulously, because he was fairly certain that wasn’t a word in any language. 

“Did you just send a call-out tweet to the BBC without mentioning them?” He asked again, and Louis shrugged. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“I can’t forgive someone who hasn’t apologized.” 

Harry sighed, but obliged, “I’m sorry for doing that and not telling you about it. I realize that that must have hurt you a lot to see, and that I should have told you what was going to happen before it did, but I hope you understand why I couldn’t,” Louis nodded, “but even so, that wasn’t fair to you, especially after we had the whole conversation about being honest with each other.” Louis nodded. 

“I don’t know if I forgive you yet,” Louis admitted.

Harry shrugged, “That’s fair.” He paused, “I’m awfully shit at this. Like, every time I get you, I do something terrible and it fucks everything up again.” 

“It wasn’t your fault this time,” Louis tried, and even though part of his brain was still pretty certain that Harry was to blame for everything, he knew that it was only Harry’s fault that he didn’t let him know before hand. Really it was Barnaby-fucking-Turner’s fault. 

“It’s always my fault in one way or another. I’m the one who asked to end it in the first place, and all of a sudden they were worried that I was paying too much attention to you. If I’d just stuck it out, it would have been just fine.” 

Louis shrugged, “I never thought you were paying too much attention to me, “he broken a smile as he spoke, unable to keep it in any longer. Something about the way Harry looked blurry and his hair was all over his face made him look so cozy that Louis wanted to cuddle up in his arms and fall back to sleep. 

Harry grinned too, leaned in to press a kiss to Louis’ cheek. “I can gladly pay you more,” he teased, and when Louis nodded as if it had been a proper proposal, he stepped through the doorway and shut the door soundly behind him. He smiled wider, but somehow in his eyes he had some further motive in mind. 

He kissed softly at first, leaned back against the door with his hands pulling Louis hips in. It wasn’t sexual, but certainly wasn’t chaste in any way, He kissed like he intended to be there for a while, and Louis liked that. He gladly kissed his back. 

When he ducked into Louis neck, and started to suck at the smooth skin halfway down, he had to use all of his willpower to pull Harry off. “I have to say goodbye to my family in a couple of hours,” he reasoned and when Harry jerked forward again he laughed, “stop!” he exclaimed through a fit of giggles. “I’ll never forgive you if you make my goodbye with my mother incredibly awkward!” 

Harry finally let go, and when he kissed him again it was just a peck. “It’ll make for an unhappy marriage if you _neve_ r forgive me,’ he teased and Louis’ heart fluttered without his consent. 

He let Harry kiss him again, this time for awhile, and much more in depth, with tongue and his fingertips under his sweater. “I haven’t agreed to marry you. It’s awfully rude of you to assume.” 

Harry leaned back against the door, face mock-serious, “Don’t tell me you’re also in love with Liam.” 

Louis laughed, “Liam isn’t really my type.” 

Harry smirked, “And who is your type?” 

“Well,” Louis teased, “I’ve got a thing for British Royalty, especially brunets.” 

Harry leaned in to kiss his deeply again, “You’d love my cousin Charlie then.” 

Louis shoved Harry in the middle of his chest in reply he only surged up to grab either side of his face into a kiss.

***

It’s later, when they’ve moved to his bed and Louis’ pajama shirt is on the floor by the door that Harry began to speak again. “I know you’re still ad at me, but I’ve been wanting to tell you this for days and I can’t hold it in any more.” Louis turned in Harry’s arms to face him, “Miles tried to be my big spoon and I had to tell him that I couldn’t sleep with human contact to get away,” he laughed, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was bad form to laugh too.

‘I guess we’re more compatible than you and Miles,” Louis smirked, the slightest bit of bitterness on his tongue. 

“What a surprise,” Harry replied, sarcasm thick in his mouth. 

Louis yawned involuntarily, suddenly realizing how early he’d woken up with when the rain came falling. “Do you think I have time to take a nap?” he asked. 

“I can have them send your breakfast up so you can skip it,” Harry offered. 

Louis shook his head, and burrowed into his chest where it was warm and comfy, “I don’t want to sleep alone.” 

Harry sighed and threaded his fingers through Louis’ hair, tucking his chin into the top of his head, “Then I doubt it. I have to be at breakfast so everyone’s parents can come ask me to consider their son a little more seriously.” 

‘What will you say?” Louis mumbled, eyes half closed now, like they stuck together every time he blinked. 

“I’ll smile and say sure, unless it’s your mother who comes, then I’ll tell her that we’re thinking of a winter wedding.” 

“Did I agree to that?” Louis asked, teasing, but also knowing that in his sleep deprived state he may well have said something he didn’t remember. 

“No,” Harry kissed the crown of his head, “But I want to get married as quickly as possible so winter is best.” 

“I’m eighteen,” Louis reminded him. 

“And I’m twenty-one. What’s that got to do with anything?” 

Without looking, Louis shoved Harry’s face, ending up with a finger in his mouth and a palm half splayed across his ear. When Harry tried to bite his fingertip off, he ended up in a fit of giggles rolling around on Harry’s chest. 

“We’ve got decades to get married,” Louis whispered once he’d stopped hiccupping with laughter. “If I don’t get sent home by the BBC after that tweet.” 

Harry laughed, “I’ll just refuse to say your name, and then they’ll have to keep you for another week.” 

“The elimination isn’t live,” Louis reasoned, “They’ll still make you say it, just in another take.”

“Not if I delay for so long that they’ll have to put out the elimination unfinished,” Harry replied, smiling cheekily, “I’ll just get your name wrong every time, like Lewis Twinkerson, or Luis Tamale,” 

Louis laughed, “It seems like that might not work out completely well, but you’re certainly allowed to try.” 

Harry narrowed his eyes, “Okay Lucas Toblerone,” he threatened and grabbed Louis on either side of the waist to flip them over. Before he could catch his breath from being thrown on the mattress, Harry’s mouth was on his, nipping desperately at his bottom lip. “ _I’m sorry,_ ” he whispered in the space between them, and Louis just surged back to his lips. Harry’s knee settled between Louis’ open legs and put pressure on his cock through his pajama pants. Unwillingly, he sighed. 

“We’ll be late for breakfast,” Louis whispered in a brief moment between their kiss, heady and breathless. Even with his own complaint, he still let Harry bite his bottom lip until he had to kiss him again. 

“Fashionably late,” Harry insisted, barely taking a second to think become he was back, tangling their lips together and slipping his tongue back into Louis’ mouth to explore again.

***

Every camera caught them as they entered the breakfast room, cheeks red and eyes blurry. Louis probably should have been worried about the fact that Harry was showing too much favouritism, but instead he was more concerned about the fact that his father had the best look on surprise plastered all over his face. 

Some of the tables were empty, with boys from the week gone. A curious rift had formed around where Wolf should have been, between Xavier Johnson and Brendan Coleman’s little sister –who was clearly making eyes at Harry from across the room. Their missing friend was sad, but Louis was still glad he had gone with his heart. 

Harry sat down at a little table at the front, all by himself, and Louis went to join his family, who elbowed him under the table and giggled rather teasingly at him. Sometimes, in between bites of pancakes and maple syrup, he’d let his eyes shift back up to Harry, who would smile wide and raise his eyebrows as if they were sharing a secret. All seemed well, for once, even with a camera in his face and his father across the table from him, everything was well.

***

It was Wednesday, after families had gone home and the selection was back to normal. Smaller, but back to normal. They all lay out in the grass, which was warm from the dark of the dirt below and stared up at clouds with no regard for time or productivity. 

“What will you do if you don’t win?” Niall asked from his right side, and Louis smiled to himself, because he was going to win. 

Zayn sat up on his other side and smiled wide, “I’ve got a job lined up with the palace, I’ll make a good footman I think.” He tipped his head from side to side as he spoke, as if he weren’t positive. “What about you?” 

Niall smiled cheekily, the way only Niall could get away with, “I’ll marry the lass I’ve been intending to for years.” 

Louis turned his head suddenly, ‘I thought you liked men?” he asked, shocked that Niall could have gotten away with a lie for so long, especially because it seemed Niall knew everyone in England, and surely they knew he was going to marry a woman if he was so sure of it. 

“There’s a word for that,” Niall joked, and suddenly Louis felt kind of terrible for not realizing. 

“Why’d you come, if you were going to marry that girl either way?” Liam asked from Zayn’s side, where he’d been less that subtly holding his hand for the last several hours. 

Niall grinned some more, “Well we all had lives to get back to when we came here. I figured I might as well. Plus, I’d known Prince Harry for the better part of my life, and I figured he’d pick me over a couple of randos to hang out with. And, his type is about as far from me as possible, so I knew I’d be going home at the end of it. Angie was fine with it, too.” 

“Angie?” Louis asked, “That’s her name?” 

Niall nodded, and pulled his phone from his trouser pocket to show them a picture of a young woman with curly blond hair and a face not unlike Niall’s own, jubilant and youthful. “A beauty, isn’t she?”

They all nodded, and Niall took it as a complement to himself. “What will you do, Louis?” he asked, and he wondered if Niall knew that Liam would follow where ever Zayn went, but he was about a thousand times now concerned with the fact that he hadn’t a single clue what he’d do, if the BBC clawed him from Harry’s cold, dead hands. 

He shrugged, “I’ll go back to Doncaster, I guess,” 

Niall chuckled, as if he’d played some massive joke on the lot of them. “Louis hasn’t even thought about it!” he exclaimed, “Must be nice to know that English royalty wants in your pants permanently.” Louis shoved him back into the grass, barely holding in a laugh himself as he did.

***

Harry finds him just before the elimination, with a devious smile on his face. “You haven’t angered them enough yet,” he said first, “apparently they think your tweet stirred up the drama they’d been hoping for.” 

‘So I get another week?” Louis asked, and Harry nodded happily. He looked around to ensure that no one was coming down the hall, and once he had, he kissed him softly. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” he whispered against the shell of Louis’ ear. 

“You will?” Louis asked, because he hadn’t remembered there being an activity planned for after the elimination. And then he was worried that they hadn’t told him about the activity for fear that he might be sent home that night. 

“As long as you’ll be awake around midnight,” he whispered again, and suddenly Louis realized that he was not intending to do some activity with the group for the cameras. No, this would be an intimate activity, for just the two of them. 

Louis’ heart beat heavy in his chest. He couldn’t even bring himself to say anything, and just watched Harry walk off down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh, is that smut coming? Who knows!


	11. Week 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I prewrite my sex scenes because I hate writing them. That's why this was so quick

“Isn’t this against the rules?” Louis giggled as Harry kissed his way down his neck and onto his collarbone. Harry was already snaking his hands down the sides of Louis’ body and resting the tips of his thumbs inside the hem on his pants.  
   
Harry laughed into his skin, and slid his thumbs further down on Louis’ hips, “There are no rules” Harry said, “I’m a prince, Lou. One day I’ll be making the rules, and my first decree will be that you are allowed to do whatever you want.”  
   
Louis laughed at that, smiling up at Harry as he leaned back onto Louis’ thighs, with his own on either side of Louis’. He pulled his clean silk top over his head, and revealed the same rippling skin that Louis had found himself quite familiar with. Louis couldn’t help but reach for Harry’s smooth chest and feel his warmth against his fingertips.  
   
As Harry leaned back down to catch Louis’ lips against his, he spoke again, “I’ve decided on my second decree: King Harry of England would like to officially announce that Louis Tomlinson isn’t allowed to wear clothes, ever.” He punctuated his decree by pulling Louis’ cable knit sweater over his head.  
   
“That’s a direct contradiction,” Louis murmured into Harry’s curls. Harry didn’t respond for a moment, instead preferring to pop open the button on Louis’ dress pants. Harry tugged Louis’ pants off of his hips and down his thighs; almost instinctively Louis shook his legs to help get them off of him quicker. He found that he would be quite okay with Harry’s decree about him not being allowed to wear clothes, as long as it applied to Harry as well.  
   
“See, that’s why I need you to help with the law making” Harry reasoned, beginning to suck a bruise onto the juncture of Louis’ neck and shoulder. Louis knew that he should have probably been telling Harry that the mark would get them both in trouble, but he could nearly hear Harry telling him that there are no rules, and therefore they cannot get into trouble.  
   
Part of Louis liked to imagine that in just over a month’s time he and Harry would be sitting at a negotiating table together, but Louis knew most likely that his job as Prince Consort to England (if he was to win) would be to act as the face of the monarchy to the public. He was to be a chess piece, a pretty picture for people like his family at home to marvel at, and to make sure that they never questioned anything about the actual governmental interworkings. “That won’t be my job, you know it too,” Louis sighed into Harry’s mouth.  
   
“I told you, you will be allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. And if whatever the fuck you want is to negotiate trade deals with the government of Canada, then I’ll have you on a plane to their capital the day after the coronation.” He paused then, to ponder his words, “My parents live in a world of rules because they can’t function around each other without them. They’ve spent so long building up lists of them, about their various jobs, how much time they have to spend together, exact meal times, but they can’t control you like they do each other. In fact, no one, not even the BBC will be allowed to. You aren’t going to be a Queen, Lou. You’re going to be the first Prince Consort of England to be married to a King, there are no rules for that, and there won’t be any, either.”  
   
Louis thought about that for a moment. First he was fascinated by the idea of becoming a politician. He always thought that he might be a secretary in a government building, but never part of the actual government. And Harry was offering him unprecedented power for the partner of a monarch. Perhaps if Harry was talking to one of the other Selected boys, maybe the one who’s father had been a mayor, Louis would have thought it less crazy, but Louis was the last person who would be prepared the run a country.  
   
But it was what he realized secondly that struck him most. Harry was saying “will” and that he was “going to be the first prince consort to a King”. The _mights_ were now _wills._ “You’re picking me, then?”    
   
Harry tore himself away from Louis’ body to look at him with a look of absolute bewilderment, “Lou, I’ve been choosing you since the first week, the rest of this was just a formality. You saw those letters, I tried to end the selection early.”  
   
Louis’ heart ached at the admission. He knew that Harry cared for him, they’d spoken about it enough times that he was sure that they meant it, but there was always a nagging feeling in the back of Louis’ mind. It was worse when the other boys would talk about whatever romantic date Harry had taken them on, and Louis sometimes thought that perhaps he was telling all of them that he cared for them. “The first week?” Louis asked. He could hardly remember the first week, except that Harry had sent nine boys home within the first hour, and continued the trend all week, and that Louis had been sure for seven full days that he’d be next.  
   
“That first suit they put you in, the plain black one when everyone else had gone for crazy colours to make them stand out, that’s the first time I thought I’d choose you. The black brought out the blue in your eyes. And then in your interview, where everyone else talked about how great they were, and you just said that you were excited to get to know me. I knew then that you were the only one I’d marry” Harry leaned down to kiss his cheekbone then. He was soft, and the feeling of urgency was gone, as they both seemed to realize that they had all night, and then in a matter of weeks they would have forever together.   
   
“You know my maids said that they wanted me to look like a polished gentleman, because I’d been marketed as a ruffian.” He was idly tugging at the button on Harry’s pants, not making any move to unbutton it, but rather trying to make it clear to Harry that he was listening to their conversation.  
   
“They warned me when I picked you as the South Yorkshire representative, that you were from the bad half, and they wanted me to pick someone who would hold be more _‘royal’_ , but I reasoned that I needed at least one wildcard out of all 48 boys, didn’t I?” Harry smiled down as he spoke, both of the remembering what a wildcard Louis had been.  
   
Louis laughed, “Well, who else was going to down your Dad’s 200 year old scotch?”  
   
“Niall did that too, just in the second round.”  
   
“Did he really?” Louis asked, he’d always thought that that was his most “wildcard” move from all his time in the palace.  
   
“Oh, yeah, he didn’t do it quite like you did though. He just took a few more sips of it than anyone else did, it wasn’t anything like seeing you chug the entire glass the second it was placed in front of you.” They both laughed at the memory too, “You’re lucky that you did that, because that was when I decided to keep you around.”  
   
“Really? I thought it would’ve had the opposite effect”  
   
“Well evidentially it didn’t. I mean look Lou, we’re here, basically waiting out the weeks before I can propose, about to have sex” Harry looked at him with a look of both astonishment and total excitement. Louis tried to contain his own excitement, but the idea of walking down an isle to Harry, and ruling together, and eventually having little princes and princesses made him giddy.  
   
“We should probably get back to the sex part now, right?”  
   
Harry chuckled, but dove back to his lips all the same. Louis popped the button of his trousers open, and with his eyes still closed in their kiss tugged at the waist of them until it had settle under Harry’s bum and his silk boxers were on full display.  
   
“Since when did you wear silk pants?” Louis wondered aloud. It seemed the question had skipped every filter in his brain and sprung from his lips.  
   
Harry smiled, “You don’t like them?”  
   
Louis shook his head, “No, I like them perfectly fine. I’d like them better if they weren’t on, though.”  
   
Harry didn’t do what he asked. Instead, he tugged Louis’ shirt over his head, leaving him in only his briefs. He kissed his way down his neck and over his chest, until he was nipping at his stomach with his fingertips under the waistband of Louis’ briefs. He was hot on Louis skin and his cologne seemed to fill the air with a sort of heaviness that he could barely resist.  
   
Harry’s fingers came sneaking into his pants, steady against his hips and letting the fabric of his pants roll down his skin and slowly but surely reveal his cock underneath. The residual embarrassment of being nude still made Louis blush, but he kissed his way through it until the red had mostly drained.  
   
From his bedside table, Harry pulled a bottle of lube out. He hadn’t actually known that was were, and by the seal still inside the cap, no one had. Harry just shrugged, avoiding any question as to why he had planted lube in Louis’ room, and if he had done so elsewhere.  
   
He looked to Louis for approval before sinking his middle finger into his hole. Louis had done this before. Only ever to himself, but still, it wasn’t as much of a shock. Harry’s fingers were longer than his own, though, And something about it felt _different_ even if it was quantifiably the same. Harry kissed his hard as he slipped in a second. Tis was different, for sure. Not anything new, but the whole feeling of being fingered by a man you were effectively in love with (even if he was yet to say it) was a fully different experience. Perhaps it was a different hand, but it seemed as though it was a different _feeling_.  
   
“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you,” Harry whispered, breathless and far away. As he joined his two fingers with a third, Louis was desperate to tell him that he was ready, but he’d had Harry’s cock down his throat, and knew that he’d be awfully uncomfortable if he didn’t let Harry prep him properly. He wrapped his ankles around Harry’s waist, and pushed back against his fingers until he was down to his knuckles and _right_ on his prostate.     
   
“Do you have a condom?” Louis asked all of a sudden, ripping is lips from Harry’s to look his in the eye briefly. Without a word, Harry leaned over the edge of the bed to dig through his jacket pocket and pull out a little foil wrapper. “you carry condoms in your jackets?” Louis asked incredulously.  
   
Harry looked shocked, and even offended by the idea, “Not normally! I’m not some wild sex addict! You know I’m not!”  
   
Louis nodded soothingly, “I know you aren’t a _wild sex addict_.” To make a point of it, Louis grabbed the condom from between Harry’s fingers. He thought for a moment of ripping it open with his teeth, but with his distinct lack of experience, he figured it would be more embarrassing than alluring.    
   
While he opened up the condom, Harry discarded his strikingly red silk boxers off the bed and settled into Louis’ neck to kiss quietly at the mark he and definitely left. Although not sexy in any way, Louis followed through the steps they’d taught in in school: pinch the tip, roll it on. Suddenly entirely unturned on by the fact that he could only equate Harry’s penis to a cucumber, he let Harry kiss him back to attraction before settling in to prepare.  
   
The head of Harry’s cock nudged against his hole, and he guided it into Louis, kissing him soundly all the while. As he pushed in, Louis couldn’t help but gasp at the stretch of his cock. As he bottomed out, he settled directly on his prostate, and Louis’ ankles grappled at his back to keep him in. Harry nosed at his chin and down his neck, until he started to move in slow, languid strokes. He moved fully in and out every time, until the head of his cock pulled at his rim. All the while, he tugged at Louis’ cock with his hand, in time with his thrusts. The feeling of Harry was intoxicating, and suddenly Louis realized why people became _wild sex addicts_. Because it was a feeling like no other. Nothing had ever made him feel so close to someone in his whole life.  
   
Harry’s movements were becoming far more erratic, and he could feel the way his hips snapped back every time he pulled too far out. The stretch of it had faded somewhere between Harry’s thrusts and the hand on his cock into something thoroughly pleasurable.  
   
“ _Fuck_ ” Harry sighed, kissing Louis deeply as he pushed through his last few strokes. It was clear he was close. Not as close as Louis was, when he could feel the pleasure of it mounting in his gut and suddenly he was coming all over Harry’s fingers. His orgasm rode through him like a wave, or an electric shock. And it seemed to strike Harry as it travelled through. Harry was coming in sudden bursts, with a twitch of his cock and his body going tense then limp in Louis’ arms.  
   
It was nearly one in the morning by the time Harry had tied off the condom and thrown it into the trash can in Louis’ bathroom, and cleaned them both up. Harry settled into his back, and as he dozed, Louis could swear he heard Harry’s voice. Somewhere far off and whispered, he heard it.    
***  
   
Louis was awoken by the feeling of Harry’s sleeping body being shaken next to him. He didn’t dare to look, because he knew that making himself known would only lead to more trouble, but he heard Mary Ellen’s voice from behind him. Louis almost shook in giggles when he thought of what Marry Ellen’s face must’ve looked like when she’d come into the room to get him ready for breakfast only to find the crown Prince of England naked in his bed, fast asleep.    
   
She’d obviously been trained for this sort of thing, but not enough for her to actually be prepared for something like this. “Um, Prince Harry,” she started tentatively, “it’s seven, I’d have to recommend that you make your way to your quarters before the others wake up.” Louis could tell she was doing damage control, trying to lessen the possibility of the press getting its hands on what would be the story of the year, Louis could imagine the headlines already _Wildcard Selection Choice Louis Tomlinson found Seducing Crown Prince._  
Harry rolled away from Louis and made a move to get out of bed, but Mary Ellen –clearly fearing for her innocence- quickly told him to stay in bed and made about the room picking up all of Harry’s clothes from the floor. She folded them neatly out of habit and placed them in front of Harry as he stretched above his arms above his head and yawned.  
   
Once Harry was out of the room, and tiptoeing his way down the hallway in hopes of not waking up the others, Mary Ellen shut the door and pressed her back to it as if to keep Harry from coming back. “Jesus” she sighed, it seemed like she was breathing for the first time since she’d entered the room that morning, “What on earth did you think you were doing?” she spoke with such exasperation that it seemed like she was blaming Louis for the fact that there was a prince in his bed.  
   
“It’s not like I tricked him!” Louis nearly yelled at her, feeling slightly silly for trying to argue while he was completely naked and his hair hadn’t been brushed.  
   
“Well, he certainly didn’t just show up to your room with the intent to sleep with you,” She chastised. Louis nearly laughed, because that had been exactly what happened. “Do you know how many rules you’ve just broke? I could have you thrown out of the competition for this!”  
   
Louis laughed, knowing full well that even if she told the King, Harry wouldn’t let him be kicked off. “Who’s Harry going to marry then? Zayn?” he teased.  
   
Mary Ellen was not having any of it, and stuck her nose up into the air like she always did, with the disapproving look that fell across her face any time she thought about the possibility of Louis becoming more important than her. She was so stuck on the fact that she was of a higher status than Louis that she would rather have had Louis publicly disgraced than have him become a prince. “He’s going to marry one of the more acceptable men on option, you’re surely leaving by the end of the week and don’t think that letting him fuck you will keep you around.”  
   
Louis was seething. He had not let Harry fuck him, he had let Harry _make love_ to him, and he had made love to Harry in return. Maybe he would have let her say things like that to him a couple of months ago, but now he had power and he respected himself enough to know that she was wrong, and awful, and just scared of seeing a boy like Louis become a prince. “Mary Ellen, I’d like you to leave now,” he said with so much defiance in his voice that he felt a sort of power that he’d never felt before.    
   
Mary Ellen gawked at him, but knew better than to challenge him as she closed the door behind her.  
   
***  
   
It was later, when Louis was in the women’s room with the Queen and some of the other boys, that he thought about what Mary Ellen had said again. She was wrong, and Louis knew that, but it was still so frustrating to hear her speak to him that way, when he would _never_ speak to her the same.  
   
He and Anne had always been close; she’d warmed up to him much faster than she’d warmed up to any of the other Selected boys. Louis always wondered why, but now he figured that Harry must have told her that he planned to marry him. That was why she’d invited him to tea, and introduced him to all of her royal friends, and probably why they’d taken to him so quickly.  
   
With only ten of them left, the room was drowning in stress and competition in a way it hadn’t before. Anne could barely get a moment to herself, before another boy pounced on her from the other side of the room.  
   
Louis didn’t mean to become overly confident, but he figured he would be okay without spending all of his time trying to crawl into Anne’s affections. And he was quite comfy in his plush chair. And, while he was fairly confident that he wasn’t limping, he didn’t want to find out.  
   
Around lunch time, he caught Anne’s eye while everyone else was snacking on charcuterie and salads. She smiled, and got up to sit in the chair next to his. She lay a hand over his, and just smiled primly for a while before speaking, “They’ll have to rip you from my cold dead hands, you know that?” she said in an awfully un-prim way. He remembered that accent vaguely from watching her selection, before she’d been a Queen and clearly been trained to speak a certain way –or not at all.  
   
Louis smiled, “Well, I’d hope it won’t come to that. I’ll quite like having you as my mother-in-law.”  
   
“You tell my son that he isn’t allowed to keep things like that from me again, okay?” she spoke very seriously, “You should also tell him that we’re actually the highest power in the land and a television network has no power over us.”  
   
“And if they drop your show from their network?” Louis wondered.  
   
“Good riddance!” Anne exclaimed, “You’ll realize when you’re the spouse of a King, but smiling for the BBC every Thursday is the worst!” I’ll gladly be dropped.” She laughed loud enough to attract the attention of the remaining contenders. John Manson’s blond head shot up at the sound of her voice, and his pearly smile made eyes at her, hoping she might invite him into her conversation, but she turned back to Louis without so much as a glance. “ _I don’t think he’s going to send anyone home this week,_ ” she whispered, too quiet for John to hear. Maybe Zayn and Liam could have heard, but they wouldn’t care either way.  
   
“Why not?” Louis asked. After all, Harry had sent home three people, at least, every week since the start.  
   
“Well he’s running out of cover,” she reasoned, “if he gets rid of Miles or John or Xavier or Knight or Sebastian, then it’s clear who he’s going to marry.”  
   
Louis shot her a look, “what’s wrong with Ed or Niall, or even Zayn and Liam?”  
   
Anne looked a bit like she wanted to laugh, “Ed is the sort of person who goes backpacking through the Amazon on a whim, and I think he’d rather be set adrift in the ocean than be trapped in London with a security team. Your friends Zayn and Liam are in love with each other –did you not know that?”  
   
Louis shook his head, “I knew, I just assumed you wouldn’t.”  
   
Anne smiled, “I’m an old woman Louis. We live for gossip.” Louis laughed out loud at that, and Anne chuckled along. “Anyways, The Viscount Ashbrook is much too –well, Niall- to marry. Anyone with eyes can see that he’s much better off being noble than royal.”  
   
While Louis couldn’t actually tell the difference the way Anne could, he sensed the same thing. Niall was not a King, and he wouldn’t make a very good one. He was Niall, and that was fine for him. “He’s going to get married. When he goes home. He’s got some girl.”  
   
Anne nodded, “Angela. He’s been bringing her to events for years and years. Frankly, I’m surprised he even applied for this, with her at home.”  
   
“He said she was okay with it.”  
   
Anne nodded, ‘I’m sure she was. If you think Niall is laid back, you haven’t met Angie. I’ve never met a woman who is more chilled out than her.”  
   
Louis smiled, “Isn’t it strange that you knew so many of these boys before they nearly married your son?”  
   
Anne lulled her head from side to side, mulling this over, “I don’t think so. I didn’t think he’d marry most of them. Maybe Sebastian, but just because that family is the loveliest group of people in all of England, but I figured he’d meet someone he liked more.”   She smiled warmly at Louis, like she was his mother. Frankly, after seeing his mother again, the two were eerily similar. Perhaps all mothers were that way.  
   
“it feels a lot more real, with just the ten of us,” Louis said, almost dreamlike, as if he had just awoken to find that everyone was gone.  
   
Anne nodded, “think of how I feel!” she exclaimed, “my only son is about to be a married man! It was easy enough to pretend my little boy wasn’t getting married when there were thirty of you, and now there are only ten. Just over a month to go too! It’ll be over before we know it!”  
   
Louis wondered about this for a moment. The Selection hadn’t felt all that fast in the seven or so weeks since it began. It felt quite heavy for so long. It had felt so full of fear and things just waiting to go wrong. It had felt like terrifying looks across the dinner table and avoiding Harry for fear of being told he would be asked to leave. It had felt like it dragged and dragged on, like nothing had ever dragged before. But now, now that Harry was his as he was Harry’s, now that he knew he’d end it with a ring on his finger and a husband to call his own, it seemed like it might fly before his eyes.  
   
***  
He and Harry have breakfast together a couple of days later. They dress up in fluffy robes after a night spent together, and drink champagne on Harry’s balcony. He let Harry feed him a strawberry, and they ignored the camera trained on them not a half metre away.  
   
Harry gets more adventurous than he should when he looks the camera straight in the eye and then proceeds to turn back to Louis and ask, “what do you want your engagement ring to look like?”  
   
Louis was taken aback. Not because he was overly concerned about the camera, but rather because he hadn’t thought about it. In fact, he was fairly certain he couldn’t pick out a ring style if it hit him over the head. “Isn’t it your job to pick?” Louis asked. He hadn’t even thought about what his engagement ring was to look like, only that it would look like a ring that he wore around.  
   
“Well yes,” Harry admitted, “but don’t you want some say in it? If you give me all free-reign, I might pick out something absolutely ghastly and you’ll have to pretend that you like it for the rest of your life.”  
   
Louis wasn’t even sure what he liked in a ring. On the Bachelor, the girls always had specific things they liked: one wanted cushion cut and the other wanted princess cut, but Louis couldn’t even figure out what princess cut was, so he certainly wasn’t asking for that. His mum had never had a ring, so it seemed kind of strange for Louis to have one. “Something simple?” Louis said, more as a question than anything else.  
   
“Do you want to come shopping for it?” Harry asked,  
   
Louis shook his head, “I think it ought to be a bit of a surprise don’t you thin?”  
   
Harry nodded. He ate another strawberry, this time feeding it to himself and looked awfully introspective. “I’m in love with you.” He said after a moment. Louis had expected a showier way of telling him. He’d known, of course, because he was also in love with Harry, but it seemed wrong to do it so suddenly. Even so, they often did things wrong, so perhaps it was more fitting. “I meant to tell you after we’d, you know, but you fell asleep so quickly and I wasn’t going to wake you up to tell you.”  
   
Louis nodded, “I love you too,” he replied, as if it were just another thing he would say.  
   
Harry looked surprised somehow. Like he had thought Louis would yell at him, or run off. ‘Oh,” he said, like it had slipped out. “That’s good.”  
   
Louis laughed, and got up from the table to lean over it and kiss Harry soundly on the mouth. He could feel his own smile against the contours of his lips.


	12. Week 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is that a chapter? Does this fic even exist anymore?

_It seemed too good to be true_. The thought occurred to Louis in the middle of the night halfway through the next week. The weather had taken a turn and with it had brought the first lighting of Louis’ fireplace and blurred glimmers from London through the fogged over doors of his balcony. He ran his fingers lightly over the skin of Harry’s back as he slept, one pillow under his arm and huffing into the sheets. 

It was curious, this sense of calm that had settled over him since Wolf’s departure. He could go for hours feeling nothing but loveliness, only to have it falling around him as the incessant ticking of a clock filled his mind. He wasn’t sure what it was counting down to yet, but the way it flooded his stomach with anxiety told enough of its meaning. 

So, in the middle of the night, Louis had awoken to that feeling of anxiety slithering through his middle, and an overwhelming feeling of needing to do something to make it go away. 

He sat up with a jolt, the anxiety sloshed around in his belly and for a moment he feared it might crawl up his throat, but it settled back into a ball in the depths of his body, holding him down. Harry just sputtered out a heavy breath. The clock beside him announced it was sometime after 1 AM, but he was out of bed before he could read the minute’s hand. The clock didn’t make a sound, but Louis’ mind supplied the tocks and ticks in rhythm with its movement. He felt like his mind was going to explode. 

Like a drunkard, he stumbled across the bedroom to the desk where his phone was plugged into its charger (Harry’s bedroom had many luxuries, but more than one outlet by the bed was not one of them). He pocketed it in his plaid pajama pants and grabbed Harry’s peacoat from where it had been tossed over the back of the chair. He hadn’t realized he was walking until he was on the main floor, walking towards where he assumed the exit was. 

It was awfully strange that Louis had lived in the palace for nearly couple months and still didn’t know how people came and went from it. 

He asked a bewildered guard -how couldn’t have been any older than he was- and the boy only stuck out a finger to point down the end of the hall. His sleeve was too large. They hadn’t given him a proper pair of uniform shoes, so he had black boots on that he’d clearly went out and bought himself. He didn’t blink for all the time Louis spoke to him. 

Had he been in a better state, he might’ve appreciated how the boy called out a careful “Your Highness?” when he was three quarters of the way down the hall. 

The door was an old one, and a single one. It had a burning EXIT sign above it, and one of those metal push bars bolted across the ancient wood. As Louis opened it, he feared for a moment that it would screech in alarm, but the moment he took a breath of London air, he wouldn’t have known if a bomb had dropped just in front of him. 

He’d never known fresh air to be intoxicating. But his lungs filled and for the first time that night his stomach didn’t feel like it had a boulder rolling a path of destruction through his intestines, and his head felt light -almost as if it were suspending from his neck by a balloon. 

Louis took a turn. He wasn’t sure why, but his feet took him around the corner and suddenly he was heading straight up a street growing busier and busier with each block. He couldn’t be sure how long he’d been walking though, because halfway through the third block he pulled out his phone to scroll down twitter so far that people began mentioning his account’s creation. 

He knew he’d have to go back at one point or another. He’d return to Harry’s side and pretend that he hadn’t taken off into the streets before the sun had gone up. Maybe, there was already a search party out for him. Maybe the blank minded boy had let his superior know of his disappearance. Maybe he’d be dismissed for running away in the night. 

Louis needed a cigarette. 

He didn’t make a habit of smoking. Mostly because it was an expensive vice. But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t take one when boys at parties and drunk girls on curbsides offered them up. He was sure it was all in his head, but something about puffing out smoke cleared his mind for a while. Louis just hoped it would do so again. 

There was one problem with his quest for a smoke. He had no money. Funnily enough, it seemed the Prince of England didn’t keep pocket change. So, he settled down on the curb. Louis had really planned anything to do with this short stint into freedom. Being free wasn’t what he’d thought it would be. 

Louis had thought it would finally stop the clock in his head, and drain the bile from his belly. Instead, it had just made him forget for a couple moments, only to have it all creep back until the anxiety was worse than before. He’d gotten himself in terrible trouble hadn’t he? Surely about a thousand very important people had already been informed, and they were each thinking of the thigs they’d do to him when he returned. The least of which would probably be dismissing him from the selection completely. He hadn’t even kissed Harry goodbye. 

“Tough night?” a voice said from beside him. Louis jolted up, back straight and leaned as far away from the noise he could manage without lying down on the curb. The character was a boy a little older than Louis. He wore a suede jacket -with fringe that Louis couldn’t quite label as either ironic or not- and his hair was dyed silver, catching the light of the night. He smiled and laughed a little at Louis’ shock. 

By some miracle from God above, the boy pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his jacket pocket and offered one to Louis. The moment smoke left his lips, he was flooded with that familiar rested feeling. One he promised himself he wouldn’t get too used to. “Tough couple months,” Louis corrected. 

The boy looked over at him, an inquisitive look in his eye. “Do I know you from somewhere?” 

It hadn’t even occurred to Louis that he might be recognized before then. Especially not by someone male, around his age who likely had zero interest in the monarchy. “Don’t think so, mate.” 

That seemed to sate him enough, because the boy just lit another cigarette and puffed the smoke straight up into the air. As it fell, it stung Louis in the eye. 

“So, is this your regular style, or was this outfit more of a one-off?” the boy’s laughter gave away that he already knew the answer. 

Louis took a look down at himself. The pair of sneakers he’d found at the door weren’t even his, and the size of them was starting to form blisters at the backs of his ankles. His pajama pants were wrinkled and his bare chest was only shielded by Harry’s coat, which hung over his shoulders and landed somewhere between his wrists and the ends of his thumbs. “Last minute thing, believe it or not,” Louis mused, “most of its not even mine.” 

“Boyfriend?” the boy asked. 

Louis lulled his head from side to side, “something like that.” Somewhere in his periphery, he spotted his phone lighting up over and over. For a moment longer, he let calmness wash over him before the undertow dragged him beneath the surface. 

“Seems like someone’s looking for you,” the boy motioned to the phone between them. Louis took a moment to glance down and tried his best to blur out the texts for unknown -important- numbers. 

“Someone’s always looking for me nowadays,” Louis laughed breathing smoke out through his nose and immediately regretting it as it floated straight up into his eyes. “I’ll go back when I really have to.” He promised more to the air than anyone else. “Is no one looking for you?” 

The boy shrugged, “what’s the use of being young if you aren’t forgotten every so often?” he smiled like he knew he was making more of a point than his words would give away. Just to prove it, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and proudly shoved an empty home screen into Louis’ eyeline. 

Someone was calling Louis then. And it struck him as a bit funny that they thought it would be better to text him constantly for a while before actually picking up the phone to get a hold of him. He pondered answering it. But where was the fun in that? 

He certainly wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to make a grand entrance. 

“I better get back,” Louis said, stubbing out his cigarette in the road and stepping over it just for good measure. 

The boy smiled and waved goodbye. “Good luck Louis,” he replied. 

Louis did a double take, and his face must’ve looked ridiculous as he battled between being angry and laughing out loud. He opted to let out a single, huffed, laugh and stopped trying to strangle the smile fighting its way onto his face. 

“I expect an invite to the wedding!” the boy yelled out as Louis jogged off. He must’ve gathered the attention of some passersby, but Louis didn’t notice a thing but the cheeky smirk on his own face and the growing number of people emerging from the side exit of the palace as he approached. 

Louis kept the smile right up to the door. 

The woman, carrying an iPad and dressed in what must’ve been the most hastily put together outfit anyone had seen (including Louis’ current ensemble) was decidedly not smiling. She grabbed him by the jacket sleeve and hustled him out of the public eye. 

“It’s quite the world we live in when a selected boy can go missing in the middle of the night and I don’t have permission to send him straight home,” she remarked, nearly under her breath but so obviously meant to be heard that she might as well have yelled it. Louis figured it was best not to reply, but he itched to say something snappy. Biting, perhaps. It was getting increasingly difficult to swallow his words, but he’d have to learn at some point, and sooner was probably better. “It’s too late to deal with this incident, just go off to your room. My job does not extend to the wee hours of the night.” 

Louis went to sleep that night in his own bed for the first time in a while. The room felt small, and it was suddenly sickening to think that he had become so saturated in luxury that this bedroom -the one that had shocked and amazed him only a couple of months before- had become below his standards. 

The anxiety swam in his stomach through the night. Back and forth, back and forth, sloshing everything around and making the butterflies seasick. 

*** 

Mary Ellen was there in the morning, because of course she was. She wouldn’t pass up a chance to look at him disappointedly and twitch her mouth around like the sight of him left a bad taste in it as she got him ready. She didn’t even spare him the respite of having Perrie join her. No, Louis got to enjoy a show starring only Mary Ellen, one he most certainly hadn’t bought a ticket for and, had he the option, he would have walked out of before the intermission. 

By the time he was dressed (a ghastly number featuring a pair of pants with gold piping down the sides and a ruffle on the front of his blouse that made him look like he was frothing from the mouth and spilling down his throat) Louis was positive that he was headed towards his final moments in the palace. 

The same woman from the night before (earlier that morning, really) was at his door front, the same tablet in her hands and the same aggravated look deep in her eyes. Louis began to wonder if perhaps that aggravation was built into her, and that he hadn’t caused it, but rather observed it in its natural state. The way she sighed the moment she saw him changed his mind. He was definitely the culprit. 

“ _The King_ has requested to speak with you,” she said it as if to make clear just how much he’d fucked up. She certainly did her job. 

Louis was still unsure of how the King felt about him. Harry had promised him that the man had liked him well enough, and that he’d even found Louis’ behaviour more funny than disrespectful, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was only one or two wrong moves away from having the King’s full wrath upon him. One less now. Maybe he should get a punch card. 

For some reason, Louis had imagined that the King would reside in a throne room, the sort from old films with a long red carpet leading up to a King sat upon a plush throne, surrounded by beggars telling him of the plights of the kingdom. Instead, King Desmond sat in a perfectly normal seat in a study completely devoid of oppressed peasants. 

He sipped a cup of tea and beckoned Louis over with only a flick of his wrist. It was endlessly fascinating: the way he could hold so much power in the air around him. Authority seemed to radiate from King Desmond in a way it didn’t from anyone else, not Anne and certainly not Harry. 

“I heard you went on a bit of a walk last night,” The King started as louis took a seat across from him. He spoke with his tea cup only a few centimetres from his lips. 

“Yes sir,” Louis tried his best to keep emotion from his voice, but the sound of dejection was clear as day. 

“And I’m meant to scold you for it,” The King continued. 

“Yes sir.” 

“It doesn’t strike you are strange that I’m meant to punish a grown man for getting some air?” The King asked, and suddenly Louis had no clue as to what to say. Surely there was a right answer to his question, but Louis might as well have been mute. “Because I gave it some thought, and the only reason I would have to scold you is if you had hurt my son, but he slept through all of this, so I think it imprudent to punish an adult like he were a child.” 

“…Oh,” Louis tried, a useless reply but one all the same. 

“I do love my son, Louis,” The King continued. “I don’t think I’ve done a very good job of making that clear to him or anyone else, but I do love him. It’s become one of my greatest regrets, that I was such a selfish man for much of his childhood. But I think, that if there is anything I can do to repair what I never built with him, letting him be with the man he loves is the least I can do.” He paused then, the small smile on his face falling into his tea cup and emerging the same tight lipped look. “The selection has always been the worst of all we royals do to our children. We steal their childhoods in favour of looking prim in front of cameras and smiling for weekly features, but -just before we thrust them into a life of holding a nation on their shoulders- we masquerade a chance at happiness under their noses only to steal it away to keep up appearances. If I were my father, you would be long gone, and Harry would be half as happy with The Lord of Beds.” 

Louis realized then, that King Desmond must once have been Harry. And in King Desmond’s selection, Louis was not Anne. He was the woman who worked in the palace, who came from the servants quarters to see him in the dead of night. 

“Harry thinks so little of me,” The King kept on, “He thinks that I am about to send you on your way, so when you return to him, could you tell him what I’ve told you?” 

Louis nodded, “Thank you.” 

The King gave a single, quick nod in return. “I look forward to getting to know you Louis.” 

“And I you, Your Highness.” 

*** 

Harry was still in bed when Louis found him. He was reading a book, one Louis hadn’t seen before but it must’ve come from the tall bookshelf tucked into the wall and he wondered if those were all of his favourites, or only a collection of things someone else had put there. 

Harry set the book down on his bedside table, a nearly shocked, totally bewildered look on his face. “They didn’t off you?” he asked, almost as though he expected the answer to come from a dead man. 

Louis shook his head. “I’ve taken it to mean I’m allowed to leave at any time,” he joked. In reality, he wouldn’t even dare to walk out into the gardens without the escort of a guard until the selection was over. He walked over to Harry’s side of the bed, and barrel rolled himself over Harry’s legs to lie on top of the duvet. Harry tucked a hand into his hair out of habit, his eyes bright and happy. “You’re lucky your father is so kind.” 

Harry snorted, “Kind is not how he has ever been described.” 

“You should have more faith in him,” Louis pressed, “we had quite a good chat this morning. He told me that he cares quite a lot for you, he wishes the two of you had more of a relationship.” 

Harry shook his head, “That bridge burned long ago, sometime between my eleventh and twelfth birthday when I saw him three times in an entire year.” 

Louis sighed, “I think you should try, at least. He wants to try. That’s more than most of us will get.” 

He leaned down to kiss the top of his head, “I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that whatever I’ve got going on is never quite as bad as yours.” 

Louis shook his head, “We aren’t going to argue over who’s childhood was more traumatic. I just know that even if I don’t like my dad all that much, I’d still jump at the chance to have something with him.”

He knew he never would, because his father would never be in a state stable enough for the two of them to even sit down to talk, but he could still think about it: having a dad who loved him. He’d rather have it late than never. 

Harry took him out to the balcony after that, and they watched the morning pass them by with a sense of ease. It wasn’t for a while that Louis realized the nervousness from the night before had come back with a vengeance, turning his digestive tract into a battleground. Something was wrong. Deep in his gut, he knew something wasn’t right. 

But Harry looked so peaceful, with the way the sun reflected off his pupils, and left his eyes looking clear and a shade of green even more vibrant than his natural one. He couldn’t bear to burst him from this happy state he’d settled into. In his mind, all would be blissful until everyone else had left the palace and it was only the two of them with an engagement ring between them. The tugging in Louis’ heart knew that wouldn’t be the case. 

Something was about to go wrong, he just didn’t know what yet. 

So, he drowned the butterflies in mimosas and smiled into Harry’s kisses and enjoyed his day. Harry proposed they go out to dinner, so they took a nondescript black van to the back of a French restaurant and ate right in the kitchen while Harry translated between Louis and the chef. 

He went to sleep that night under Harry’s arm, ignoring the weight of his heart in favour of the weight of Harry’s body against his. 

*** 

Every one of the selected boys were lying on the floor of the women’s room when Louis entered the next morning. 

Zayn sat up first, “Oh hi!” he said excitedly, “sorry what was your name again?” 

Louis laughed and shoved him back down onto the carpet. Zayn giggled along and rolled around on the floor for a little. “Long time no see,” Liam added. 

“It’s been two days!” Louis exclaimed. He followed the trend and took his place with his back against the carpet. “What are we looking at?” 

Niall turned, his face only an inch or two from Louis’, “Nothing. That’s the thing. Zayn said that it took real skill to find something on a black white wall, so we’ve been staring at the ceiling trying to find something in nothing.” 

“Artsy,” Louis remarked, but he let his eyes search all the same. “This is the most pretentious thing I’ve ever done, and I had champagne for breakfast this morning.” 

“I heard you went on the run yesterday,” Liam said. 

Louis sighed, “I went on a twenty minute walk. Everyone seems to think I didn’t intend on coming back,” he laughed, “I would’ve bothered to take something expensive if I was really running. Got to be smart about it, you know?” His eyes were starting to adjust to seeing a constant expanse of white. “Water stain!” he exclaimed, sticking a finger straight up to the sky where he’d seen it. 

“No way!” Sebastian protested, “water stain on your eye maybe. There’s nothing there.” 

“Cobweb!” Niall yelled out too. 

“Doesn’t count,” Zayn replied, calm as ever, “Cob webs are three dimensional, thus can’t be on the ceiling, only touching it.”

*** 

The elimination broadcast taping was strangely empty with only ten of them. They were only two rows then, five and five, and this time they’d been given long couches to sit on, since they had to stretch the interviews out further now. 

Louis felt calm. He’d even had Harry tell him who was going home, just because he could. He’d even let himself be clothed in whatever his stylists insisted on, and let them artfully tousle his hair however they wanted. 

Eliminations were the sort of thing he’d come to enjoy now that he knew he’d be back another week. They were long, and boring and Martin McSilver was insufferably camp, but Louis could see how people liked the programs when they weren’t the ones with the rest of their lives hanging in the balance. 

It started off as any other elimination had. Martin McSilver asked them all the same questions. _Tell us the dirt,_ implicit in his voice even as they all smiled graciously and gave the same, tedious answers. _We’re so blessed to be here. Such a fantastic experience. Memories and friendships to last a lifetime._

Then Harry took his place on the X. He smiled his lopsided grin at the audience and read dutifully off the teleprompter. _Thank you for joining us. These nine weeks have been so transformative for all of us. Thank you for tuning in to see it all. Remember to come back next week._

He started his elimination just as expected. Knight Bradley bid him farewell with a diplomatic smile and a hug that last just long enough to remind everyone at home of the fun they’d had together, but not so long that one might wonder if he didn’t want to let go. John Manson left quickly, and louis wondered if that would be the most time he’d been seen on camera the entire time he’d been there. 

Something about Xavier Johnson’s departure felt final. He’d always intimidated Louis, just by his way of being. But he’d never been cruel. No one had ever been cruel, not really. When he left the stage though, Louis let out a deep breath. A final hurtle perhaps. 

Then Harry froze. His spine shot up straight and his eyes went wide. Before he even looked over at Louis, he knew what that meant. Still he couldn’t help but turn his eyes to the teleprompter, which told him exactly what he had already guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So once I'm finished this (I'm going to finish it I swear) I have two ideas for the next thing I write.   
> 1\. Historical au, fluff fest for the most part. Shorter, I'm thinking like 16-25k.  
> 2\. Modern/supernatural (phenomenon not the TV show) super dark, gritty, angsty. Longer. Probably around 100k
> 
> If anyone has input I'd appreciate.


	13. Week 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To the person who's birthday it was on the nineteenth, I really did try but summer is crazy. I hope you'll enjoy it anyways. Harry belated birthday!

It had been over an hour since all had stopped and the studio had exploded into complete chaos. By then it had gone mostly silent, with only the pitter-pattering of PAs filling the room. Harry had long since sat down at the front of the stage, with his legs dangling off the end and his arms crossed over his chest like a petulant child. He’d said little in the last hour, beyond repeating that he would not be saying what was on the teleprompter. He’d shaken his head a couple of times too, but for the most part he was still and silent. It wasn’t worrisome necessarily, but it took Louis off his guard. Harry was often serious, but never quarrelsome. 

Now, he was about as quarrelsome as they came. He’d refused to speak to the personal assistant to the producer, the producer, and the entire board of directors at the BBC. People didn’t often refuse the Board, that had been clear as they’d complained through the speakerphone. 

Louis had come to appreciate the chairs they’d been given, because sitting down on the stage as the Prince of a nation was one thing, but as the reason the Prince was sitting was another. Still he almost wished for a privacy screen, or a rather large hat. Even without being told outright, the studio audience had put two and two together. It seemed now that he couldn’t escape the prying eyes of London elite as they blamed him for wasting their Friday afternoon. But, for the most part, elitists were a stoic bunch, and it was difficult to tell whether they felt any which way about the actual elimination. 

They’d yet to call in the King and Queen, but that would be their next move -no doubt. As of late one of the royal advisors was trying to reason with Harry, although she would have just as well reasoned with a house plant for Harry juts shook his head at her some more and leaned back on his hands. 

Louis had never really noticed how truly small the recording room was until he saw someone jog from one side of it to the other in less than a few seconds. Perhaps without the rows of chairs, it might’ve been a sizable room, but as the bleachers seemed to encroach further and further into the floorspace, Louis became awfully claustrophobic. The problem was that the production assistant had announced fifty minutes ago that no one would be leaving until the whole thing was resolved. Louis also needed a wee. 

So the clock had gone five and still they hadn’t come to a conclusion that didn’t involve editing Louis’ name into Harry’s mouth -which surprisingly enough turned out to be illegal. Louis could see the team getting more and more worried about getting the report out to the public on time. Six-thirty really wasn’t that far off, and if they wanted to edit the program at all, they’d have to wrap things up hear very soon. It seemed, though, that Harry knew this. He was playing off it to his best advantage. If he just stalled the clock long enough, they’d have to take that part out of the program all together. Like a hunger strike of sorts. 

So it seemed that their night was settled. They would all be there until as long after six-thirty it required to mean Louis would have to remain. 

Then, the doors of the recording room were thrust open and in came Queen Anne and King Desmond. They carried themselves phlegmatically, as if they had no clue what lay before them. Louis wasn’t sure what to think about their arrival: he knew they were fond of him, they’d told him as much quite recently, but their fondness of him wouldn’t trump their desire to seem like fair and benevolent leaders. Louis was well aware that if it came to keeping him and keeping up appearances, he’d barely see the door shut behind him. 

The anxiety stewing in his stomach seemed to agree. He was right on the precipice of losing everything he’d gained here. In fact, the odds seemed rather likely that he would be waking up at home come tomorrow morning with nothing but a memory of his time in the palace. It had seemed so simple that afternoon, and now his perfect life timeline had gone and gotten all tangled up. 

It wasn’t hard to tell why the BBC wanted him gone. What fun was an open and shut love story? People wanted twists, turns, and tears. The last few weeks, when Louis had been euphoric had just not pulled the same drama-loving audience the night at the ball had. So, the program would have to tinker around, rearrange people’s expectations with some big move. Sadly, Louis had to be the victim of it.

King Desmond took a seat at the front of the crowd. Within a moment three people with clipboards and headsets were on him, explaining that they had every right to make this request and that the Prince just wouldn’t cooperate with production. King Desmond listened, and nodded along with their complaints, but after all was said, he didn’t reply. Louis decided then that there were few things quite as terrifying as a King with nothing he deemed worth saying. 

Harry and his father looked strikingly similar then. They’d both narrowed their eyes and leaned back, and seemed to take up so much air that they would be untouchable for a good five feet in any direction. It wasn’t an abuse of this power, but rather a very natural, inherent power that they possessed without thinking of it. 

The King whispered something to the person closest to him, and suddenly the whole production floor was off in a flurry. For a moment, Louis wondered if the King had given them permission to force it out of Harry, but when the Prince was informed he didn’t seem angry, but rather pensive. 

“The King has asked that we stop the taping for tonight, so that the family and their advisors can discuss this matter with the BBC. Should you be needed for a second taping tomorrow we will contact you. All are dismissed.” 

*** 

All of the selected boys were hustled out the side, probably to avoid speaking to any of the audience, although they’d already gotten more than enough tabloid fodder without any of their comments. It did nothing for the nerves in Louis’ throat. 

He was no stranger to the sensation of nearly throwing up. In fact, the selection itself had made him more than slightly familiar with it, but he’d never come this close to vomiting in public before. So, when one of the palace staff unceremoniously sequestered him off towards one of the public bathrooms on the first floor, he was grateful. He was more grateful when she just looked off in the distance was he threw himself at the toilet bowl. She even handed him a glass of water after the fact, and the two of them waited a while in the stall: waiting for Louis to get a handle on himself. 

Louis went back to his room that night, and looked upon it as if it were his first time. The blue and red striped pillows against the headboard -the silliest of all the things Louis had come to love, the bathrobe hanging against the bathroom door -his initials embroidered in the lapel with ridiculous gold thread, the French doors -washed in rain water and locked from the inside. 

He went to each of his little presents. The first was the cellphone, which he plugged into a charger in the wall, it had been such a lovely gift, one that he had gotten before Harry was Harry, but rather just a stranger with a good heart. The bracelet on his wrist, which he unscrewed and laid beside the phone, his very first memory of Harry that meant anything beyond awe. The airplane necklace, which he admired in its case, closing it and putting it back in its drawer in the nightstand. His watch, the bouquet of flowers on his dresser, the container of bath salts on the rim of the bathtub. All Harry’s. All things he would leave here, in the memory of him. It would be no use to take them back to Yorkshire, where they’d rust on a shelf. 

It would be hard. Possibly the hardest thing Louis had done in all eighteen years he’d been around. This wonderous time, the most perfect few months of his life would just be gone. And he’d return like nothing ever happened. Just the days he’d spent here to keep with him. Just the memory of Harry on his skin, and in his brain. Just the smiles he’d shared with the boys around him, the nights in Zayn’s room spent laughing, the days in the gardens when they’d all played God-awful tennis to impress no one but themselves. He’d remember that, and that would be enough. 

So, he took a step into the closet and through the dress shirts and the shelves upon shelves of ties and shoes, right into the back. The bag was still there, with his joggers from the very first day. The one’s he’d brought to wear home. He’d have a chance to use them now. 

His mum had texted him sometime after seven, “Report didn’t go out tonight, everything okay?” And Louis couldn’t bear to tell her. 

He slept his last night in the most comfortable bed in the world, wrapped up in a duvet made from actual clouds and candy floss. He’d miss this, but not nearly as much as he’d miss everything else. The little things. The lazy days. The happy moments. Dinners with the boys, brunch with Harry on the balcony, sewing with the Queen. He’d miss that most. 

*** 

When Perrie entered the next morning, Louis could tell just from her face. Negotiations had failed, and Louis was headed home. Perhaps it should have caused him to cry, maybe he should have protested, fought for it, but he was tired. 

Louis was tired of it, feeling like everything he did was wrong. He was tired of being one of ten, or twenty or thirty-five. He was tired of watching his back, and tired of avoiding tourists and tired of spending every day of his life in a big room with a couple couches. So he didn’t fight it, he just let it wash over him like a rain shower, like it was nothing more than a little rain. 

They didn’t bring him to say goodbye to anyone. Not even Harry. And that hurt the most, because his final memory of Harry would be him in defiance. He didn’t even remember the last thing he said to him. He honest to God, could not remember the last thing he said to the only man he’d ever loved. And he’s sure it wasn’t “I love you,” or anything of that nature. It was like Harry was long gone, a distant memory before he had even left the palace. 

They loaded him into a black car in some back entrance, and off they went to the airport. The woman sent with him didn’t carry a clipboard or an iPad like most of the other advisors he’d known in the palace. Perhaps because she hadn’t anything to remember in regards to him. He wondered why they’d bothered to send her at all, perhaps just to keep him company. 

Louis sat, and bit at the skin around his thumb for the better part of a hour. Mostly, he tried to figure out what on earth he was going to tell his mother. A couple of days ago he would’ve told her to save the date for his wedding, now he’d be home with her watching it all on TV. Oh god, he’d have to watch the rest of the selection on TV. He’d gotten his own heart beating too hard in his chest. 

The car pulled up to the tarmac, and for the first time the advisor looked over at him. She looked sympathetic, maybe even sad. She bent down to grab the bag at her feet, Louis hadn’t noticed it before. “You, um, forgot a couple of things in your room.” She handed the bag over to him, like it were something to be careful with. 

Louis took one look inside and pushed it back towards her. “I’d rather not have them.” He’d left all his gifts in his room, he’d wanted them to stay there. 

The advisor didn’t seem to understand this. She looked at him puzzled but even more so she looked at him upset. “Not even the cellphone? You’ll want to keep in contact, won’t you?” 

Louis shook his head. “I haven’t a reason to. Frankly it would be a bit inappropriate to speak to the Prince any longer, don’t you think?” The advisor picked up the bag, and looked into it like Louis had broken everything inside. 

“He wanted you to have your things. He would want to know you could speak to him.” She pressed further. She looked up from the bag then, and her eyes were nearly glassy. Louis’ weren’t. Louis hadn’t cried yet. 

He looked away, he couldn’t cry now. “Tell him I took it then.” It felt wrong to tell this woman to lie to Harry. Not because he was a Prince, but because he was Harry. Louis’ Harry. They were meant to be honest with each other. 

“You know, you could probably get a job once this is all done. You could see him still.” And Louis knew he could. He knew he could just go back in less than a month, and take Harry for himself behind closed doors. But then he would be making Harry into something he swore he’d never be. He couldn’t do that to him. So he wouldn’t be back. He shook his head. “I hope you’ll do well Louis,” she continued, the glass had gone and now she looked at him with the sternness of a mother, “you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I’m sorry it had to go this way.” 

Louis nodded. “Me too.” And truly, he was. 

*** 

On the plane back, he decided one thing: that if he were to do it all over again, he would’ve kept himself clear of Harry. Maybe he could have floated through a couple of weeks in the background, enjoyed the niceties of the palace and then gone back without having it be any more than a minor inconvenience. Because nothing felt quite as terrible as knowing he’d never touch Harry again now that he had. 

He kind of wished he’d taken the phone when he’d had the chance. If not to just know he could speak to Harry. Not that he would. 

*** 

Louis thought he knew what going back to Doncaster would mean. He knew he’d spend lots of time on the sofa with his mum, maybe more time in his bedroom than he used to. He figured they wouldn’t turn the TV on twice a day any longer. He thought he take a few weeks and then go back to beg for his waiter’s job. He thought all would go back to normal. 

Louis was wrong. 

To be fair, he did spend a lot of time with his mum, and they didn’t turn the TV on any longer to watch the selection news, but that was all he’d gotten from his expectations. He hadn’t expected the visitors. It seemed, that Louis had inadvertently become the most eligible bachelor in all of the north. Boys had come from villages and towns and even the street over from his to visit. They smiled too much, and Louis didn’t feel much like smiling. 

It was the first time in all of this that Louis had realized he didn’t really want to marry anyone at eighteen. Truthfully, he wasn’t even sure he would’ve wanted to marry Harry at eighteen, but he certainly didn’t want to marry any of the boys who’d come around in tracksuits and expensive trainers. It was almost like everything in the palace existed in this weird little realm, where time and expectations didn’t matter. Now, Louis was back in the real world, where it had all come back with a vengeance. 

He didn’t tell his mum, but he’d set the TV to record the nightly report. He watched it late at night when everyone in the house was so dead to the world that they wouldn’t hear his sobs. He did cry. Often. Harry didn’t look sad, and Louis knew it was all production and selective editing, but he couldn’t help but curse him for makeup artists and directors who weren’t there to edit around the red rims of Louis’ eyes. 

That was the only time Louis let himself think of Harry. Because even though he knew all too well how structured everything he did for the program was, he felt close to him. Sometimes, he catch the tail end of a genuine smile and remember all the times he’d seen that stupid lopsided grin. He’d see Harry fiddling with his rings and he’d remember the rivets in each one, running his fingers over their surfaces and how they’d feel when they held hands. He’d see Harry run his fingers through his hair and he’d remember what it felt like. Louis would remember that it smelt like lavender and wildflowers. He’d remember that sometimes he’d used Harry’s shampoo and that his had smelt just the same. So yeah, sometimes at night he’d let himself feel close to him again. It wasn’t anything serious, not something he’d ever act on, just a bit of time for him. 

It was different when Harry started wearing the necklace. Four days after he’d left Louis caught it in a little flash in the dining room scene. He’d rewound the tape just to make for certain, but sure enough there it was hanging against his collar bone, off centre and too short for him. He liked seeing his airplane on Harry’s chest. So, when Harry looked straight into the camera, he let himself think that perhaps Harry was looking at him -to tell him he was thinking about them. 

Louis let himself do silly things. 

They never made him feel any better, but it hurt more to ignore Harry or pretend that necklace wasn’t once his. More than once he caught himself trying to finger it. He’d get used to its absence. He’d get used to Harry having it. He’d get used to being in Doncaster. He’d get used to waking up by himself. He’d get used to feeling close to Harry through the TV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello endnotes readers! I am in the process of outlining and rough-drafting my next story (I'm going with the supernatural one because I was most excited by it, I might get to the other one some other time). Because of that I'm looking for someone to help me with it. I won't call it a Beta because I'm not sure that entirely fits the role, but I'll call it "an outlining friend". Just someone to make sure that my outline makes sense and that my goals come through from the outline to the chapter. If you're interested, or anyone you know might be. Contact me here [x](https://mcssymon.tumblr.com/)


	14. Week 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why this took me so long, I've had it half written for weeks

Louis spent a lot of time at the dining room table. It was the only place in the house that felt right now that he was back. Everything was so familiar, and he’d never really spent much time in the dining room, so it felt like the place for him now. He’d found himself lost in his own house, like everything had been shifted three inches to the right and now he was clipping corners and tripping over carpet edges. In the dining room, he wasn’t ashamed of that. None of the family knew it well. So, he spent a lot of time there. He liked to twiddle his thumbs, and stare at the ceiling and to drink hundreds of cups of tea. 

If he was honest, he didn’t really know what to do with himself anymore. He had nothing he was meant to do. He wasn’t meant to be seen on camera, he wasn’t meant to be at his job, he could’ve disappeared and the world would’ve functioned completely the same -Louis hated that. 

He went to church for the first time in his goddamned life because he needed to get out of the house for once and he’d heard that churches were meant to be quiet, and they had to be nice to you. So he went and sat in a pew for a half hour. He watched people praying and repenting and one little girl falling sleep on her father’s shoulder while the whole family spoke to God. He didn’t pray. He never had, and he wouldn’t know where to start. So he just sat there and thought about how he was wasting time thinking about absolutely nothing at all. 

One day, he went out and bought a tabloid with his face on it but didn’t bother opening it to see what they were saying about him. He made himself a gin and tonic, but poured it down the sink the moment he caught a whiff. He nicked a pack of cigarettes from the corner store and smoked the entire thing in a back alley with his hood up. 

It didn’t make him feel any better. 

Another day, he walked Lottie to school and picked up the twins from daycare. He went to speak with his old boss about getting is job back -and the man looked at him so sadly that Louis thought he might cry as he told him that they couldn’t have that sort of ruckus in the restaurant. He cleaned the house top to bottom with nothing but a half empty bottle of Lysol. 

It didn’t make him feel any better. And now the whole house smelt like cleaning solution. 

On Monday -after a fruitless elimination the preceding Friday, a letter from Zayn arrived. He read it four times, and ran his hand over the palace stationary a few more times just for good measure. It smelt like Zayn -cigarette smoke and vanilla cologne. It was nice. He said they’d been spending lots of time since a heatwave had hit London and that they’d let them all wear t-shirts and shorts on camera. He said he and Liam had gotten in a bit of a row about whether or not the Avengers were coming back in Avengers 4 -Liam had argued that the studio had promised deaths were final, while Zayn insisted that Avengers 4 insinuated it would be an Avengers movie. He told him that his job in the summer palace was all settled, and he was already thinking of how he’d like to paint his and Liam’s little cottage. At the bottom he added the tiniest note, in much lighter print, that he hadn’t seen much of Harry in the last week. 

He tried to write Zayn a letter back, but he found quickly that he hadn’t anything to say. He wasn’t doing anything, he wasn’t feeling anything, he wasn’t even thinking anything. So he didn’t bother to send one, and instead he watched the nightly report to pick out the moments Zayn spoke about -he even tried to pinpoint the moment Zayn and Liam must’ve gotten in their argument. 

Then while Louis, Phoebe -who was home “sick” from school- and his mother ate a late breakfast of scrambled eggs and tea in the living room, the little film that had settle over the house broke. “My friends at school say you’re famous now,” Phoebe said while picking around the edges of her eggs and ignoring her mushrooms and beans. 

His mum popped her head up right away, aghast at what her daughter had dared to say in Louis’ presence “Phoebe!” his mum started, “Leave your brother al-“ 

“It’s okay,” Louis countered, donning the smile he reserved only for his sisters. He made sure his voice was light, determined not to frighten her. “I don’t think I’m famous Phoebs. It’s just excitement about the Selection. It’ll die down soon enough.” 

Phoebe seemed to understand, and nodded into her eggs, “will we get to go back to the palace though?” 

And Louis isn’t sure why that affected him more than anything had yet, but he knocked his fork against his cup and nearly spilt eggs all over his lap. Truthfully, he did know why: he’d been so proud the shoe his sisters and his mum that. He’d been so proud that he could give them that life, even for the weekend, and he had nearly gotten it for their whole lives, just to have it slip through his fingers. “No, love. I don’t think so.” 

Phoebe stabbed her eggs like they’d threatened her and looked awfully soar. Quickly, Louis drained his cup, for fear he might spill it if they spoke any more about it. “But Harry likes me.” 

He could tell by the way his mother looked up with half a mouthful of eggs that she also knew it was the first time anyone had said his name out loud since he’d been back. She flicked her eyes to Louis as if expecting him to have already dissolved into tears. But he didn’t. He just grinned -albeit a half grin- a took another bite. “the Prince likes everyone in the country, darling. That’s his job.” Even though he was truly grateful to have it finally out in the air, he couldn’t bring himself to say Harry’s name out loud. That felt too close. 

Phoebe wasn’t sated by that. The same sour look on her face, she got up and sat with Louis on the couch. “But Harry liked you especially.” She took her plate to the sink straight after that and Louis was left with his mum, who just looked at him like he was a china doll on the edge of a shelf -just waiting to be knocked down. He smiled at her too, and went to sit in the dining room again. 

He went back to church on Wednesday. This time for a service, because apparently people went to church on Wednesday sometimes. He wondered if it was because God was more likely to hear you when there were less voices yelling at him. He sat in a pew by himself -easy enough to find when there weren’t more than thirteen or fourteen people in the whole room. They sang a hymn from a big blue book that Louis didn’t know but he could read music so he got on fine enough. Then they started to chant something and Louis had to opt out; he wasn’t quite ready for that level of religion just yet. He was starting to like church, if only because everyone smiled at him and no one knew who he was. It was easy to get lost in other people’s lives for a while: to watch the elderly couple frown at the reverend and each other and the floor, to wonder what the woman with her hair done up was doing in a church on Wednesday evening, and forget about himself and all the shit he’d gotten himself into. 

He went home that night and wrote a letter out to Zayn. He told him he’d been doing okay, and that his mother was well and his sisters and Ernest were happy, and then he crumbled that piece of paper up and threw it in the garbage can. He told Zayn about the cigarettes, and about what Phoebe had said, and about his job, and about how he went to church now and never prayed. He told him that he has watched the report every night and that sometimes he lifted his hand to grab something and he’d be taken aback by how light it was without that bangle. He told Zayn he was sad, often. 

He doesn’t ask about Harry though. He asks about Liam and he asks about the Queen and the King and if Zayn’s seen Perrie in the hall, but not about Harry: because he knew he didn’t have to. 

*** 

By Thursday, Louis had nearly settled into his life back at home. He’d thought about going to college now that it was all said and done, because being a reality star seemed to have paid off in the form of a rather large sum of money in her personal bank account, but the application asked him to write a personal essay -so he went out with Stan and bought a pint with the government’s money. They laughed about that. There was something so inherently ironic about getting smashed on the King’s dime that Louis didn’t even feel guilty. He figured Harry wouldn’t found it funny too. If he knew. 

It was that night, eight beers deep and a long walk home to go, Louis wished for the first time to speak to Harry. He wanted nothing more for Harry to come to his bedroom that night and laugh with him about the ridiculousness of it all. But when he returned home, he didn’t find the bedroom he’d expected. He didn’t find his pillows or the blanketlike bathrobe or monogramed pajamas. But, he did find his sisters and a little stuffed rabbit digging into the base of his spine, so it wasn’t so bad. 

He slept a full night through for first time since he’d been back home, and finally he felt like he was _at home_ again. He liked being home. He liked his family and he liked the taste of half-burnt eggs and baked beans from a can and drinking coke at dinner instead of wine from a fancy vineyard in the French Riviera. 

*** 

On Friday, Louis was so hungover that when the doorbell rang -well it was more of a whine because no one had bothered to charge the batteries in six or seven years- he nearly didn’t bother getting up. He trekked from the living room where he had been watching all the daytime TV he desired (he now knew all sorts of things about rare medical conditions that afflicted the American people) right up to the front door in his slippers and a ratty t-shirt that hadn’t fit him for five years but he never bothered to toss out. 

Perhaps, if he hadn’t been hungover, he would have closed the door right in the face of the woman -who wore a smart black blazer with a matching pencil skirt- because her hair in a tight bun was enough confirmation of where she had come from, but his reflexes weren’t functioning at their finest, so he allowed her to take a step into his doorway without even registering her movement. 

“Hello Louis,” she smiled, as if they were both marvelous friends with much to talk about. She pulled an iPad from her purse. “I’m sure you can figure out why I’ve come.” 

He wished he didn’t know, because he had had so much more faith in Harry. He had believed what he had said, about committing himself to a husband: to loving his children and being happy with one partner for the rest of his life. It disappointed him to discover that hadn’t been the truth. Even after all that he and Harry had said about it. Even after Harry had committed himself to him, just as he was meant to commit himself to Miles Seamen or Sebastian Fairchild or hell even Niall Horan (who would be a right laugh to have as a husband). 

“I won’t take it,” Louis said, before she could offer. But she looked confused, so he continued, “Whatever job the Prince has sent you to give me, I won’t take it.” He wouldn’t be a mistress (or whatever the male equivalent was) he refused to be a dirty little secret, even if he wanted so much to feel Harry on his skin one last time. 

The woman made a face, and then it melted off her like it had been programmed into her to revert to her neutral state. She replaced a scrunched nose with a soft, caring smile. “I’m not here to offer you a job Louis. Well, not a different one anyways.” 

It was Louis turn to frown again. “I don’t follow.” 

The woman took a few steps into the house, and instead of going straight through to the living room, she took a sharp left into the dining room. She pulled out a seat and with only her gaze compelled him to sit across from her. She brought out a stack of paperwork with no more than ten pages and a pen Louis recognized from the palace writing set. 

“We want you back, Louis,” she said, smiling as if she had given the very best news in the world. And Louis should have felt like it was, but he couldn’t imagine going back to the palace now that he was back. 

He was, born and raised, a Yorkshire boy. The kind who stole whole packs of cigarettes and drank eight pints like they were shots. At the palace, he had become a subdued version of himself, one who smiled cordially -he couldn’t possibly use that word back here- and one who was satisfied spending his days in a single room reading books so terribly written they were nearly vomit inducing. 

“I- I don’t understand,” he said, even though he did. What he couldn’t understand was why they’d left him for two weeks to wallow in his lost love. They’d dropped him in the middle of his life again, with not a single foothold to grab onto, and now they just up and decided he was needed again. 

“The Selection has decided it would be best if you returned to the show next week. Perhaps even tonight, so we can do a big show of it during the elimination,” she explained cheerfully. What kind of sick joke was that? 

Louis had never thought of the palace staff as monsters. He had often thought of them as detached, unfeeling and arrogant, but this was beyond any of that. This was horrid. They had crushed him, made him feel like a stranger in his own life, trapped Harry’s name behind his lips and left tears of his pillow case. They’d made him smell of smoke and cleaning solution and forced him from his job. And now they just wanted him back, for the drama of it. 

“No.” Louis crossed his arms over his chest, but he couldn’t bear to be outwardly defiant in the face of this poor woman, so he looked down as his knees tucked into the table. “I- I don’t think I can go back.” 

“Louis?” the woman looked so upset, like Louis had hurt her with his words. “Don’t you love him?” 

And Louis doesn’t like to admit this, but he nearly socked her in the mouth. The most ridiculous, ignorant comment a person could have said. Because Louis would never love anyone like he had loved Harry -like he still loved Harry. But Harry wasn’t the only thing he was being asked to return to. He couldn’t go back to rules and feeling so constantly that he had broken them. He wouldn’t go back to being a pawn. 

“Of course I love him,” he bite into the words and sunk to the root of each tooth, “I will love him as long as I live.” 

She tipped her head to the side, as if expecting his words to sound different. “Then why not?” 

Louis shook his head. “When you get back to London, will you tell who ever it was that decided the rating would go back up if I returned, that if they had wanted me, they should have kept me on their little reality show.” 

They sat opposite each other for a moment longer, and slowly the adrenaline in his veins dissipated into the air, and he returned to his neutral being -the sort of unfeeling boy he had been before any of this had started. 

Then, she seemed to understand what he had meant, and in all one breath took everything off the table and swept it back into her purse. She stood, and Louis stood too. They walked back to the door. Side by side with nothing to say between them. Her smile had faded from her face. 

“I hope, Louis,” she started, her voice had changed, shifted down an octave and something in the accent had given way from London to a much more familiar one, “I hope you’ll be happy with this decision. Really. I hope you’ll thank yourself one day, even if it’s not today.” 

Louis nearly looked down again, and of all the things he did that day, not looking away was the only one he was thankful for, because the doorway wasn’t empty when she opened the door. 

At first, Louis saw flowers, and then a suit with a sort of gold trimming around it as if it belonged in a piece of architecture rather than clothing and then he saw dark brown hair swept in waves down a neck of the man, and then he saw Harry. In Doncaster. Standing on his little front porch with a bouquet of flowers dressed like a Goddamned Christmas ornament. 

He still doesn’t know who moved first, and perhaps it was the divine spirit he was yet to pray to who moved them but soon he was breathing in the familiar floral of Harry’s hair, and the smell of the palace -which had a quiet, distinctive smell that had always made Louis’ nose itch but now smelt like the finest flower in all of the Kingdom. Harry’s hand were knotted in the back of his old t-shirt and he was just about stepping on his slippers. And, nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. 

In the dreams he had had of a moment such as this he had always felt his heart explode, or his hands shake or that they shared a kiss so passionate the dictionary definition of love was changed to just a picture of the two of them, but it was just the opposite. Nothing was different, not a single firework, no coronation music played, in fact they didn’t even kiss, but Louis was so warm. Like he had just finished a big bowl of the most delicious soup and it was warming each of his veins in the middle of a cold day. He felt like he was still in Doncaster, but somewhere else too, like he had left his physical body and been transported out of it into the best weather all of England had even seen. It felt like Harry had returned. 

“What?” Louis asked when they finally pulled away to look at each other. The flowers had been partially crushed against his back. He looked between the woman and to Harry and to the woman and to Harry. “What?” he repeated. 

“You’ll come, won’t you”” Harry asked, a worried frown covered his face and between his eyebrows he had blossomed a lovely little line -deep enough to hold pocket change. Without thinking, his fingers settled on top of it to smooth it out. 

“I-“ he stopped. What could he say? With Harry here to take him back to where they had fallen in love. Even if it had cursed him so many times over. “Will you come to church with me?” he wasn’t sure what he wanted from that experience, maybe it was meant to give him clarity he was missing, maybe it would restore something that seemed stolen from the moment, but he wanted to show Harry the church. 

So, they walked over to the little church -which had once been in the middle of town, but now inhabited the middle of absolutely nowhere- and sat in the balcony for fear Harry might be photographed. For a while, they didn’t speak, in fact they didn’t touch save for Harry’s thigh against his knee, they just regarded the alter together. Louis fit his elbows onto his knees and his fingers in between his knuckles. 

“Are you happy here?” Harry asked. Louis stuck on his voice, the low, softened way he seemed to say every word. He spoke with a careful sort of reserve, something trained into him from the moment he uttered his first words. 

Louis looked up at him briefly, and their eyes met -blue on green- before he went back to the alter. “No.” That was the truth, really. He had been miserable since he’d come back. Really, he’d been miserable before the selection to start with. 

“Were you happy at the palace?” Harry asked, and Louis was sure he already knew the answer. 

“No,” Louis repeated, he knew Harry must’ve been heartbroken by that, “well, sometimes I was, but often not.” He tapped intermittently against his knee, as if to keep the beat of their conversation. 

“You aren’t coming back, are you?” Harry asked, although there wasn’t much to question in that statement. 

Truthfully, Louis didn’t know if he was going back. He wanted nothing more than to go back with Harry. To wake up next to him and see him in the halls and feel a smile come over him like the sun from behind a cloud, but -it would never be that easy. None of this was ever as easy as that. He couldn’t bear to spend another Friday afternoon in the studio with the people who had crushed him piece by piece. He just couldn’t smile for a the camera any longer. 

“I would,” he said, but without the joy in his voice Harry could tell that wasn’t the end, “You know I would give anything to be with you, but I don’t know if I can do it any longer. It’s just -it’s never _just you_. It’s always you with cameras and drama and my face in tabloids and being reprimanded for having free will. And I can’t go back to that.” 

Harry’s eyes were light, like the morning following a storm, when the sea had gone a sort of calm grey even though all had been lost. He seemed to understand, and Louis realized he wanted him to fight for it, maybe yell in the middle of a church of something. Instead, Louis leaned over and pressed a careful kiss to his lips. When he pulled away, he opened his eyes before Harry, and regarded him as though he were a fine painting: the brushstrokes of his eyelashes, the stippling of freckles across the middle of his face, light rosy pink blended into his cheekbones. 

“What if it wasn’t?” Harry asked a moment later, and instead of this careful painting shattering, it had just come alive. “I mean, what if it was just the two of us? What if you didn’t come back to the show at all? We wouldn’t have to tell anyone outside of the palace and you could stay off the cameras, and in two weeks when this shit-show is over, I’ll announce I’m marrying you and we’ll have a big TV wedding and name our kids things like Moonshine.” 

Louis laughed, “I doubt Moonshine is popular in the Royal naming process,” He didn’t say anything about the rest of it, for it seemed to good to be true. 

“Actually,” Harry cut in, giggling along, his big, lopsided smile invading his face as if it was an invasive species, “My cousin Scarlett is named Scarlett Moonshine II. Her father’s not royal, and I think he thought it was a right laugh.” 

Harry grabbed into his knee, perhaps an unconscious move, but Louis layered his hands on top, lacing his fingers between Harry’s. “Do you really think you could?” he started, “Have me back without having me back?” He didn’t know if that made any sense, but Harry seemed to know. 

A smiled snuck onto his face, as if he had just thought of the funniest thing, “I’m a prince, Louis. I do what I like.” 

And the two of them burst into tearful laughter. 

*** 

They put him up in a room somewhere in the middle of the palace, a place Louis would never actually have to find again because Harry had picked up his bags the second they had been put down and taken them up to his sitting room. 

They ate lunch on the terrace, not a camera in sight and thick sunglasses over Louis’ eyes to keep from revealing him to the paparazzi. They ate fancy salads full of too much lettuce and not enough dressing to make them palatable, and drank champagne -because they were celebrating. 

Late that afternoon, Zayn came by with Liam, and the four of them were so caught up talking about all that had happened in the two weeks Louis had been gone that they missed dinner altogether and had to eat cold kitchen pizza on the floor of Harry’s room. 

Sometimes it was shocking how un-Princely Harry could be, and when he was drinking cheap beer from a can and letting pizza grease drop onto his dress pants with not a single trouble, it was easy to forget they were in a palace until one looked up to the ceiling gilded in gold. They watched a movie that hadn’t come out yet and barely thought a second of the coming storm of policy and worry and contract troubles. 

Harry sent Edward Sheeran back to Suffolk and Niall back to his girl while Louis waited back in their room for the most glorious round of ridiculously over the top love making anyone had ever seen. Well, hopeful no one had seen it, but the figure of speech held all the same. 

And for once, it felt okay. Well enough. Nearly perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple chapter left! 
> 
> This new thing I'm writing is not what I would call "fanfic typical", it's got some kind of dark content, and I think it's less of a romance than normal, so I don't know if anyone will like it, but I'm having fun so...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking out the first chapter :)
> 
> If you want to reblog the post for this fic (which I'd really appreciate) it's [here](https://mcssymon.tumblr.com/post/164926517625/like-water-over-fire-like-water-on-fire-by)


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